


No Peeking

by chamomiletea (airandangels)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Bacta as Lube (Star Wars), Bargaining, Blindfolds, Concussions, Daddy Kink, Demisexuality, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, DinCobb, Domestic Bliss, Duelling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Guilt, Hair-pulling, I'M SO SORRY FOR THE SUDDEN LEFT TURN INTO RIMMING, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inhibitions, M/M, NOT an established relationship, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s02e01 The Marshal, Post-Episode: s02e08 The Rescue, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Rimming, Shower Sex, Talking, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved, anyway, bc I think I fairly heavily implied that Cobb had some experiences like that when he was younger, but a fairly mild version which is more about using 'Daddy' as an affectionate nickname, but a relationship getting established and finding its patterns, cobbdin, feeling that he was seen as a thing to be consumed etc, how wouldst one tag, long conversations, marshmando, post-season 2 The Mandalorian, sorry about that, that should have been in here before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 132,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/chamomiletea
Summary: This story began as a tryst fitted in following the events ofThe Mandalorianseason two episode one, "The Marshal," because I like Din Djarin and Cobb Vanth together.  They are both already falling hard but need to circle each other for quite a while before being sure of their approach.  Din really ought to go.  Cobb would really like him to stay, and will keep thinking of reasons.The story continues as they're reunited and begin building a life together.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, din djarin/cobb vanth/boba fett
Comments: 237
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I largely wrote this without having read any other fanfic of the pairing and was amused, when I did, to see how many of the same beats people seemed to hit (and it was exactly as I had expected that the red scarf blindfold is super popular) - so it may not feel particularly original, but if you like the pairing there will probably be stuff in there that you enjoy. 
> 
> This version of the story is edited and expanded from a first draft that I wrote right after the episode aired but couldn't complete within a week, so I put it aside until after the season finished and I could look at it in the round, also recover from my disappointment that we only saw Cobb in one episode this season. I feel a little guilty about not putting in more research/actually re-watching the episode to make sure I kept things like travel consistent/the fact I realised I had got Timothy Olyphant's eye colour wrong about an hour from finishing, but that's not the kind of thing I enjoyed writing about and I hope you will enjoy this in the same way I enjoyed writing it - with a forgiving eye.
> 
> I largely resisted the temptation to put a lot of folksy cowboy nonsense into Cobb's dialogue, although I think that "both suns shine on a womp rat's tail" line would have fully justified it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a truly implausible amount of talking, not to mention other physical activities, for two guys who had just had an exhausting day together slaying a dragon, but we'll just assume they both have truly incredible stamina/krayt dragon barbecue fully restores your HP.

“I hope our paths cross again.”

“As do I.”

“Oh, and you tell your people I wasn't the one that broke that.”

Cobb was giving him one last smile and turning away, and Din sighed faintly, too quiet to be heard from outside his helmet. His hand moved unthinkingly on the armour loaded onto the speeder. Then he shocked himself profoundly with the thought that the inside of the helmet would still smell like Cobb. 

_ I should not be thinking about that. Inside the helmet is private. And it’s not rightfully his, it shouldn’t smell like him, hopefully all of that will have aired out by the time anyone else is given it. There’s probably some kind of cleansing or purification an Armourer can do to make things right, so any… contamination will be gone. It could do with some care anyway.  _ Cobb had maintained it functionally well, but this was obviously a suit that had seen a lot of action and both the enamel and the underlying metal, a decent beskar alloy, were chipped, dinged and just worn away. It was surprising that a man who cared enough about how he looked to wear, for example, that rich red scarf wouldn’t have tried to make his armour more presentable. 

Different, perhaps, when your armour was the only face you showed to the world. Cobb, on the other hand, could just take his helmet off and give a smile and he would look…

_ dank farrik he’s coming back  _

_ and he’s smiling  _

“I know what I just said,” Cobb was already saying as he got close, “but I just can’t let you go like that. It’ll get dark before too long. It’ll freeze the tail off a womp rat out on the dunes at night.”

“I know,” Din said, nonplussed. They had been out there together, just last night. It had been cold, but not dangerously so. It was still the early afternoon, with hours of daylight left. “I’ll be fine.”

“But we need you,” Cobb said, looking as if he’d just thought of a new justification. “It looks like there’s going to be a cookout. Number one, you deserve your share of that, dragonslayer. Number two, I don’t want this thing to turn into a brawl just when we were getting comfortable with the Tuskens just because we don’t speak the same language and someone thinks someone else is insulting their granny’s barbecue sauce recipe.”

“You want me to interpret? They seem to be managing okay,” Din said. “And nobody brought a recipe or ingredients for a sauce out here.” Any dragon meat cookout was going to be entirely impromptu and unseasoned. 

“Number three,” Cobb said, evidently playing his last card, “I would really like you to stay.”

_ I shouldn’t stay. I have a quest. I have a duty to the child.  _

_ Who is always hungry. I don’t know where he puts it all. Someone that little should not have that kind of capacity. Why not let him eat his fill for once? _

You always lose when you argue with yourself. He had conscientiously made it out to be a matter of caring for the child, but the real reason was the smile, bright and warm but a little unsure, in front of him now. 

“I can help with the cookout,” he said. 

“Flamethrower?” Cobb asked, his smile widening. 

“Yes.”

“Damn, I’ll miss having a flamethrower. Come on, unpack your kid and we’ll get started.” He gave Din a friendly slap on the back, which clanged. 

The cookout went well; there were no incidents between humans and Tuskens, as everyone was too glad and relieved to be rid of the dragon to dwell on their conflicts for the moment. There was clearly a recognition on both sides that sharing a meal would cement their cooperation and ground events in the reassuring normality of hot food. There were short speeches from both sides in remembrance of those killed by the dragon, which Din did end up interpreting; it seemed important for both sides to understand that the other felt grief and loss very much like they did. He was aware of the inherent contradiction of describing this process as “humanising” the former enemy, but it was a worthwhile goal even if there wasn’t an unproblematic word for it. 

And the child ate a truly improbable amount of grilled meat then went to sleep curled up between two massifs, so he was very happy and safe as houses, and as Din stood beside the speakers either talking or signing or combining the two, he was pleasantly yet disturbingly aware of Cobb watching him from where he sat on a rock.  _ He looks… admiring? And as if he’s… proud of me. Proud to be associated with me? That makes sense, I guess, we’ve had a success together.  _ It still didn’t feel like a full explanation. “How do you feel about me?” was not a question he would ordinarily think to ask anybody, as it didn’t matter how anybody felt about him as long as he was doing his duty, but he was honestly curious about it in this case, and couldn’t justify it. 

When the speeches were over and people were going back to the fire for seconds, Cobb came up to him, putting his hand on his arm, a slight pressure felt yet not felt through the beskar. Was he touching him more on purpose, or just because he was happy?

“Hey,” he said. “You haven’t had anything to eat, and you must be starving after the day you had. Go get some, okay?”

“I don’t eat in company,” Din explained. “No living thing may see my face; this is the Way. That’s why the helmet stays on, and why I was shocked to see you take yours off.” He wasn’t sure he could convey to an outsider quite how shocking it was. You couldn’t say it was like someone suddenly taking their clothes off and being naked, because nudity had certain connotations that didn’t fit in, and after that the closest thing he could think of was if someone took off their face entirely _. _

“The helmet stays on?” Cobb repeated. “What, even in bed?”

“I’m used to it.” Right now he was blessing the helmet for hiding his expression. He didn’t normally give a damn about the usual stupid jokes about “the helmet stays on during sex” that someone always seemed to think would be fresh and funny if  _ they _ said them, as opposed to disrespectful and extremely unoriginal, but this was a different situation — and Cobb hadn’t said it with a smirk or a leer, and Din wanted to think it had just been a genuine question. 

“How do you sleep?”

“I sleep fine.”

“In the bathroom? You have to wash, right? You don’t smell like you don’t wash.”

“That’s different, it’s more private.” He wanted to say it was none of Cobb’s business what he smelled like but he’d been wondering what  _ he  _ smelled like so he didn’t really have the high ground there. Putting your head inside someone else’s helmet (even if it wasn’t rightfully theirs) to  _ smell _ them was frankly a perverted idea and he felt ashamed to have thought of it, but it wasn’t as if he could sniff through his own helmet. 

“So if you were alone in private, you could take it off and eat?”

“Of course.” This felt like safer ground. He was used to sometimes feeling flickers of attraction to people but he was also used to being able to ignore them until they went away, not blushing and sweating and reacting to words like “in bed” like a dumb adolescent. 

“Okay then. Go and get yourself a skewer or two. You can go over between those big rocks over there. I’ll stand guard so nobody bothers you. No peeking,” Cobb said cheerfully. 

“It’s not necessary,” Din said uncomfortably. “I’m also used to waiting between meals. It doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers me. Humour me. Listen, I may not understand why you can’t show your face, but if it’s important to you it’s important to me. I’ll make sure you get your privacy. I’m your host here, I need to look after you,” Cobb said earnestly. 

It was a kind offer. It didn’t sound like a trick. When he was much younger he’d had a couple of near misses with people who took his creed not as a boundary to respect but as a challenge to overcome, and they tried to be sneaky about it. The apparent belief that if he were just forced, trapped or tricked into breaking his culture’s strongest taboo, he would relax and enjoy it and admit that they had been right all along, seemed to run strong. Cobb was essentially offering him the same consideration that Omera had on Sorgan, and he had trusted her and been rewarded with continuing kindness and respect. He shouldn’t feel so nervous about it. 

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll get those skewers.”

It wasn’t until he was in between the rocks, in a spot where he was confident nobody who wasn’t flying overhead could see him without him seeing them first, that it occurred to him the two of them would have looked exactly as if they were going off to find a private place for some kind of afternoon tryst. Then he felt foolish. Obviously that wasn’t it. But of course, anyone watching them and thinking “Oooooh, where’s the marshal going with his new friend?” would have seen Cobb stop and turn his back to the gap in the rocks as he went on in. Maybe they would just think he had to piss or change or something. 

He didn’t take his helmet off altogether, just tipped it up enough to expose his mouth and ate quickly. Krayt dragon meat was surprisingly tasty, with a lot of marbled, savoury-tasting fat, and it occurred to him this was the first time he’d eaten something that had earlier eaten him. Probably not an insight he would share with anyone. Cobb, fortunately, was not trying to talk to him while he ate, but he could occasionally hear sounds from him, his boots scuffing in the sand, and a little humming of fragmentary tunes. It was fairly distracting. He was uncomfortably aware of his mouth. 

He finished, wiped his lips and lowered the helmet, feeling less tense immediately once he was safely covered up. He emerged from the rocks to where Cobb was standing, attempting to pick something out of his teeth with his thumbnail. He stopped abruptly when he saw Din and hastily wiped his hand on his trouser leg. Was he embarrassed too? “Good?” Cobb asked brightly. 

“Yes. Thank you.” He was trying to think what else he could say when a burp caught him by surprise. It buzzed and rang inside the helmet and his face burned. “Excuse me.”

Cobb grinned. “Maybe you’re not as perfect as you look,” he said. 

“Why would you think I looked perfect?” Din asked, confused. 

“Well, you’re so… shiny,” said Cobb sheepishly. 

“Oh, right.” It was just the beskar, which obviously was impressive even if you didn’t appreciate its full significance. 

“Nothing stays shiny out here. I was thinking I looked pretty spiffy in my armour — sorry, not really my armour — and then I walk into the cantina and find you looking like  _ that,  _ and that was a real eye-opener.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyhoo. Go back?”

“You wore it well, though,” Din said, then backtracked. “Not that you should have worn it at all, but… yes. The armour wasn’t… dishonoured in that way.”

“Ah, so it’s bad enough to wear the armour if you have no right to it, but it’s  _ really  _ bad if you look like a slob in it?” Cobb asked with a little chuckle. “Feels like I should’ve at least given it a fresh lick of paint.”

“That would be inappropriate,” said Din, who had thought something similar but was disconcerted right now by the word “lick.” He tried to explain rather than just shut him down primly. “That type of work should be done only by the armour’s rightful owner or by a Mandalorian armourer, in accordance with our creed and traditions. Anything you did would probably need to be undone to restore it.”

“What happens to it next? Or is that private?”

Din shrugged. “If the original owner can be traced it goes back to them, or their heirs. If not, it’ll most likely be refurbished and given to someone young starting out who has no blood kin to inherit from. Someone like I was.”

“Like…” said Cobb, making an uncertain gesture towards Din’s armour. 

“No. This is special. This was the result of… a big payday.”

“And I bet that’s putting it mildly. Someone like you were — so you don’t have any family but the little guy?”

“We’re a clan of two.”

“How does that work, though? You must have had parents, so their armour…”

“They weren’t Mandalorian. I was adopted into the Watch as a foundling, a war orphan. The Children of the Watch saved my life and gave it a purpose.”

“So you can get adopted in? Do people marry in too?”

“It’s possible, but it’s difficult to fully follow the Way if you haven’t been brought up with it.”  _ Why are you so interested? And why aren’t you criticising it and saying you could never live that way or challenging me on why I do?  _

Cobb just nodded thoughtfully. They were both quiet for slightly too long to feel comfortable. “We should get back to town,” he said eventually, then added, “Hey, could you teach me how to tell the raiders thank you and goodbye? Respectfully. I don’t think I can make the noises, but with the hand signs?”

“Respectfully, it’d be a good start not to call their spoken language noises.”

“Fair point. Will you? I’d like to leave on a pleasant note if we can.”

“All right. Watch me.”

He kept it simple and they practised several times. Cobb didn’t sign very well, his gestures being a mixture of too emphatic and too uncertain, but he clearly wanted to do it right and Din hoped the Tuskens would at least appreciate the goodwill. He thought he’d stand just behind Cobb while he did it and sign along as a safety net. The sign for “goodbye [until next time]” was coming up a bit too much like “goodbye [to your mother].”

As he did, watching the leaders’ body language carefully and seeing them appear pleased, he realised that he too felt proud of Cobb, if for no other reason than because he had really listened to him and shown he could change his mind. He wasn’t an admirer of the Tuskens by any means, but there was genuine respect and gratitude there now. He’d started to see them not as savages who just acted and reacted savagely but as people who had comprehensible, sometimes even sympathetic reasons for the things they did. That type of attitude shift was all too rare. 

And the earnest, careful way that Cobb was signing was endearing. Look at him, trying so hard. It was cute. 

This was the point at which he fully realised he was in trouble. 

_ Just because I’m feeling something stupid doesn’t mean I have to do something stupid,  _ he reassured himself.  _ This will be just like any other time I’ve felt a brief, vague crush towards someone who was nice to look at and nice to me. It’s just gratitude and loneliness and it will go away when I don’t see him any more.  _

And then as he was picking up the child, Cobb said, “Put you two up at my place overnight?” and smiled and he stupidly said, “Yes. Thanks.”

He had the whole ride back to think that over and regret it, but it was done now and where else were they going to go? The suns were setting when they arrived in Mos Pelgo. 

There was nothing about Cobb’s house to distinguish it from the others, from the outside. Inside it was small, very clean and tidy, and confirmed Din’s impression that Cobb loved beautiful things, though he couldn’t get many of them, and that his favourite colour was red. The patchwork blanket folded over the back of the couch was many shades of red and there was a red blown-glass decanter and two matching glasses in the middle of the table. It was a surprising splash of colour on a planet as overwhelmingly beige as Tatooine. 

The child had fallen asleep again on the way back and Din was carrying him in his arms. 

“Here,” said Cobb, going over to the couch and quickly, neatly folding the patchwork blanket into a kind of nest. Din laid the child down in it and he nestled under a fold of the blanket with a faint cooing sound. Din remained with his hand on the child’s chest for a few moments until he was sure he had settled again, then straightened up. Cobb was looking at him again in the way he had during the speeches, and it flustered him. His lips felt dry and he was glad to be able to wet them unseen.  _ What now? _

“So we don’t disturb him,” said Cobb, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. Din followed him. Cobb paused to take two bottles from the icebox and then led him out the kitchen door to a patch of pebbly sand behind the house where there were a couple of old chairs and a box between them as a table. Beyond that was a view of the endless dunes and the endless sky, the sunset light fading on the horizon. Cobb popped the tops off the bottles and offered him one, then said, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Guess you can’t.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll turn away. I trust you not to look.” He took the bottle because he was both thirsty and desperate for something to do with his hands. They both sat down and Cobb stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossing his ankles, and took a swig of his drink. A star fell in the distance, and then another. 

“Can I ask you something?” Cobb said a little abruptly. 

Din, who had just turned away to lift the edge of his helmet and drink, pulled it back down and turned back. “Uh-huh.”

“You know when you took the detonator and told me to take care of the kid?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think too much of it in the moment, but later on it struck me, if your plan hadn’t worked and you got digested, were you asking me to raise your child?” 

“I didn’t think about it that much in the moment either,” Din said. “I just trusted you to keep him safe.”

“I always sort of thought it’d be nice to be a dad, but things didn’t work out that way,” said Cobb. “Was not expecting it to just happen to me.”

“I never thought about being a dad at all,” said Din. “It just happened to me.”

“You’re a good one, though. He trusts you. He goes to you to feel safe. He just likes being close to you.” Cobb paused. “If you ever do need someone, you know you can count on me, right? I would like to help.”

“You have a lot of responsibilities of your own,” Din hedged.

“Folks seem to manage having a job and a family.” Cobb scratched his head, ruffling the hair in the back. “I’m not asking you to decide anything now. Just want you to know the offer’s there, if you should ever need it.”

“Thank you,” said Din. He was both flustered and touched. It wasn’t an offer he should need to use, he should be looking forward to getting the kid safely into the custody of a Jedi, but it was always good to have fallback positions. “That means a lot,” he said, feeling how inadequate the words were. 

“Can I ask you something else?” Cobb asked. “I mean, if it’s something you can’t talk about to an outsider, or it’s too personal, I understand. Don’t want to pry.”

“You can ask,” Din said. “It may not be something I can answer, but I don’t mind you asking.”

“Are you really comfortable like that? In armour all the time? Don’t you ever —”

“I don’t feel a need to take it off or have a break from it. I’m more relaxed with it on. I think you’re thinking of wearing the helmet as a great sacrifice. It’s really not. It’s the least I can do, to express gratitude to the people that raised me.”

“And love?” Cobb asked, quite gently. 

“And love.” 

“Well, that’s all a matter of your point of view,” said Cobb. “I understand loving your family, wanting to live up to their values. I can understand if you may not feel you’re giving up anything you would want. Still, it seems like… isn’t it awful lonely?”

Din shrugged. He didn’t know how to answer that. He was lonely but he didn’t know if it was that much more or less than anyone else felt. What was a normal amount of loneliness and what was awful?

“Really makes me realise how much I count on being able to see folks’ faces,” said Cobb thoughtfully. “Half of why the Tuskens don’t seem like people is their bandaged-up faces. No expressions, no smiles. Now I like you and I believe you like me, but I don’t know if I’ve ever made you smile.”

“I don’t smile a lot,” said Din. “I could tell you I’m smiling now.” He couldn’t help it. Cobb said he liked him. 

“I’d like to think so.”

“I do... like you too.” He wanted to say “You’ve made me feel happy,” but it sounded too sappy and strange. It made him happy to sit here beside him, to feel welcomed by him. When he had called him a good dad, that made him happy too, even if he thought it wasn’t true. That simple “I like you” carried way more happiness than the words should bear. He slid down in his chair a little, stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, mirroring Cobb’s position, and turned his head away, lifting the helmet just enough to take a drink.

“Do you shave?” Cobb asked quizzically, and he almost laughed. 

“I can shave if I need to,” he said. “It’s permitted.”

“Beard hanging out of your helmet would look odd,” Cobb said, brushing his thumb against the clipped grey hair on his own jaw. It made a faint scratching noise as if the texture of the hair was fairly stiff. Din thought about the wispier texture of his own facial hair and was embarrassed again for no good reason. “If you did have family, could you show them?”

“As necessary, yes. As a foundling I don’t know that much about it, but that’s my understanding.”

“So it’s okay if the kid sees you? While you shave or whatever? I remember sitting on the bathroom counter watching my dad shave when I was a kid. For some reason it was really fascinating for a while there.”

“I… I still keep up my habits. It’s simpler that way. He may not be with me that long. I’m quested to return him to his own people. But it wouldn’t be a problem if he did happen to see.”

“Does it get to the point where a close friend is like family? Another Mando, I mean.”

“I don’t think so.” He’d never had a friend that close, anyway. “You’re still thinking as if we  _ want _ to take it off and we look for a justification. It’s not like that. I don’t need to see someone’s face or show them mine to be their friend. The way we treat each other is what matters. We trust each other and help each other. We enjoy being together. It’s that simple and it’s the same whether my friend is Mandalorian or not.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“And I have more friends who aren’t. We’re a scattered people and I don’t get to meet many others of my kind. I don’t have any… close relationships with other Mandalorians, so it’s not an issue that comes up.”

“So you don’t need to show your friends, but you do care for them,” Cobb went on. “It’s not that you don’t get close to people.”

“For a long time I didn’t. I was… all business. I just focused on my work. Go out after a bounty, bring them in, get paid, do it again. Don’t get involved and don’t make judgements. Whatever I had left over after expenses I gave to the Watch to support other foundlings. That was all that mattered to me. I thought it was all I needed. Then one day I took on a big bounty and it turned out to be the kid. And I couldn’t take him in. I just couldn’t.”

“He melted your heart with those big brown eyes, huh?” Cobb asked, smiling fondly. 

“He started it thawing, anyway. Everything in my life has changed since I decided I was going to protect him. It’s so much harder, but I would never take that choice back. I… needed to let people in, because it turned out I couldn’t do it alone. I’ve made more friends since then than the rest of my life. Turns out people like you when they see you care about something. Good people. Like you.”

“Kind of softens a scary guy’s image,” Cobb agreed. “Worked on me.”

“I have to give him back to his people,” Din said. “His future is more important than anything I feel. I know that. I still don’t want to think about it. How empty I’m going to be when he’s gone.”

Cobb reached across the space between them and took his hand, gripping it firmly. Feeling the squeeze of his fingers through the soft old leather of his glove was the closest Din had been to touching him directly and it sent a hot shiver up his arm. He was trapped between feeling like he might cry and a truly humiliating stab of arousal. 

“You’re not gonna be empty,” Cobb said. “You’re gonna hurt, but that’s because you’re not empty. Your friends will still be your friends. I want you to promise me, when you’ve done your quest, got him back to his folks, you’ll come see me and tell me about it. Okay?” He waited, gazing at him earnestly. After a few moments’ silence the brightness in his eyes faded a bit and he said, “Sorry. I’m forgetting I just met you. I’m in no place to ask anything of you. And there must be people you’d want to go to before me when you’re hurting.”

“No,” said Din. “I mean yes. I mean I’ll come back. I don’t care. I mean I don’t care if I just met you. Dank farrik, I’m awkward,” he muttered under his breath. If he was going to be this stupid and confused it was probably a good thing he’d never felt quite like this before. He really hoped Cobb couldn’t hear in his voice how close he’d been to tears for those few moments. 

“You’re not so bad,” said Cobb. “I feel just a little awkward myself.” He shifted his grip on Din’s hand, and the glove shifted, and his finger or thumb, Din wasn’t sure which, briefly touched the bare inside of his wrist. He snatched his hand back and sat there with his heartbeat drumming in his ears. 

There was a long, tense pause. 

“Your hands are cold,” he said, which was an atrocious lie. He felt like it had burned him. “Sorry.”

“Cold hands, warm heart,” said Cobb. “Isn’t that what they say? Sounds better than poor circulation.” He dignified the lie by blowing on his fingers and rubbing his hands together a moment, but didn’t try to take Din’s hand again. He took a long drink from his bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing. Din wished he could do the same thing but didn’t dare turn away to lift his helmet even a fraction. If nothing else he was grateful for the temporary silence. Except it wasn’t silent, he could hear Cobb breathing and swallowing deafeningly. 

Cobb finished his drink, put it down, slowly and deliberately turned towards him, then asked, “Has anyone ever kissed you?”

“No living thing may see my face,” he said, because it was a rote phrase that came easily when he couldn’t compose a sentence to save his life and sort of answered Cobb’s question without having to directly answer it. Of course they hadn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” said Cobb. “That was a prying question. I take it back.” He looked embarrassed, as far as Din could tell by moonlight. It didn’t  _ matter _ if he didn’t understand, he could hardly be expected to, but Din found that he urgently wanted Cobb to understand him. He just didn’t know how to make it happen. His stomach was rolling with anxiety. This whole conversation was a horrible mistake, but he  _ wanted _ Cobb to understand him.

“There are things that you accept won’t be part of your life,” he said. “They can’t be. That… is more of a sacrifice.”

Cobb was looking at him intently. He sat up straighter, drawing his legs back in. “I know I don’t understand your religion,” he said, “and I know what I’m going to say might be all wrong. I hope you know I’m not saying it with any disrespect. I want to get this clear. The rule isn’t that you must have a  _ helmet _ on at all times unless you’re alone. It’s that no living thing may see your face, and your helmet is the way you make sure of that, right?”

“More or less,” Din admitted. It was an oversimplification, and there would be all kinds of specific cases that made it untrue, but in broad terms it wasn’t wrong. 

“So if you were with someone who couldn’t see your face, could you take it off safely? Say, in a dark room? Or with a blind man?”

“You’re not blind,” Din said, and regretted it instantly. His heart was pounding painfully. He wasn’t thinking right. There was adrenaline rushing through him like a fight or flight reaction, but he couldn’t very well do either. He’d taken off his jetpack inside so he couldn’t just disappear into the sky, which would have been his first choice. He had been prepared to sit out his temporary crush; he was not remotely prepared for Cobb to start talking along these lines.

“No, I’m not,” Cobb said quietly. “Got a room with pretty good curtains, though. I need it pitch dark to sleep well.” 

“I don’t want to be with… anyone in the pitch dark.” Din said. He got up, putting his drink down on the box. “I’m exhausted. I should go to sleep.”

“Okay,” said Cobb after a moment. “I’ll get you another blanket. It’s a pretty comfortable couch.” 

Inside Din knelt by the couch, trying to gently move the little nest up to one end without waking the kid, trying to stop his hands from shaking, then stayed kneeling for a few moments with his palm resting on his chest, feeling his calm little heartbeat and slow untroubled breathing. His own heart was still thumping and he felt like he was in one of those dreams where you watched yourself do things that you  _ knew _ you wouldn’t do, things that were stupid and dangerous and when you were awake you knew better, but the dream you kept on doing them anyway.

_ He’ll never tell anyone, not if I ask him. He’s offering me a kindness.  _

_ I shouldn’t ask that of anyone, I shouldn’t do it and I shouldn’t want it. This is not the Way.  _ He got up slowly, bargaining with himself and losing. When he turned around he found Cobb was standing in the arched doorway of the hall that led to the bathroom and his bedroom, watching him curiously, warily. He vividly remembered the first time he’d seen him, in the doorway of the cantina, the unmistakable silhouette of Mandalorian armour electrifying him, and the slim waist and the angle of the hip and the long legs. The shock of seeing he was an impostor had just temporarily masked the shock of being so suddenly and intensely attracted to someone, even before he knew who he was. It was hitting him all over again. 

“You’re not going to bed?” Cobb asked. Din walked over to him too quickly. 

“Can I…” he said, and got stuck. He reached for Cobb’s red scarf, hesitating with his hand on it. Cobb glanced down, looked back up at him and nodded slightly. Din unwrapped the scarf and held it in his hands, folded it over, made it into a long strip. He covered Cobb’s eyes with it, wrapped it around his head and tied the ends firmly at the back. Cobb stood still and let him do it calmly, although his breathing quickened a bit. “Like this,” Din said, and got stuck again. 

“Like this,” Cobb repeated. “It’s okay?”

_ It’s not okay.  _ “It’s okay.”

Cobb just waited expectantly, his lips a little parted. After a last moment of struggle Din lifted off his helmet. He was sweating and the air felt cool on his burning cheeks. There was a chest of drawers next to them by the wall and he put the helmet there, carefully, as if treating it respectfully reduced the gravity of what he was going to do. He took his gloves off too, put them aside, and stood there feeling naked in a full suit of armour. 

_ I don’t even know how to do this properly. I’ve only seen other people do it and looked away because it was none of my business. It can’t be that hard _ .

He put his bare hands on Cobb’s cheeks, felt the texture of his skin and his beard, tried his best to stop his hands trembling, failed, and leaned in to kiss his mouth. Cobb’s lips were a little dry and his moustache prickled lightly. It was a small, soft kiss, lips together, nowhere near trying anything fancy. It was the most thrilling and frightening thing he’d done. He was sick with guilt about it already and still doing it. After a moment he felt Cobb move his lips and a trace of wetness between them, and he froze. Then Cobb drew back a bit and that was all. 

“You okay?” Cobb asked quietly. 

“Yes,” he lied. 

“Mando, I can’t see your face but I can hear a lie.”

“My name’s Din.”

“Din,” Cobb repeated, as if the name was something valuable. “Well, Din, you are my friend. And if you’ve done more than you wanted to because I asked, I’m sorry, and I won’t ask again.”

Din kissed him again, trying to make him feel how very badly he had wanted it, afraid he was just going to bash their teeth together if he pushed as hard as he wanted to.

“Take a breath,” said Cobb. “You want me to lead a little? Show you something that might feel good?”

“Yes,” he said truthfully. 

“If it doesn’t feel right, you push me back. I don’t want to take anything you don’t want to give.” He touched Din’s face, brushing his fingers lightly over it. “You don’t shave,” he said, with a small smile. When he kissed him he moved his lips slowly and surely, focused on Din’s upper lip, then the lower one, then moved into the middle with his lips slightly parted and a very light touch of his tongue. Things snowballed from there because Din was suddenly desperate and trying to catch up on about forty years’ deficit of physical affection. He kissed back frantically and tried to use his tongue and found he only knew how to lick. So he did and Cobb made sharp noises of encouragement and combed his fingers into his hair, which made his spine shiver. He was abruptly as hard as he’d ever been in his life and it was trapped behind a beskar cup and it  _ hurt. _

They broke apart for air. “I’m bad at this,” he panted. 

“Who told you you’re bad?” Cobb stroked his cheek, smiling. “No one knows how you kiss except me. I say you’re good. You want to let me be sweet to you some more?”

“Uh,” said Din, who couldn’t think. He remembered Cobb couldn’t see anything he did, dropped one hand from his face and managed to adjust himself so at least the pressure was more tolerable.

“Or… if that was your first kiss just now, I understand if you’re done for tonight. You can put that helmet back on, be comfortable.”

Din was starting to think the things Cobb said weren’t just to be considerate and let him know he could stop things whenever he wanted to. They were that, but they were also a kind of teasing, prompting, telling him he needed to be very clear if he wanted to proceed. “I’ve got it off now. It’d be a waste. I’m not done.” He moved his hands to Cobb’s shoulders, which felt wiry and strong and very warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Couch is taken. You want to go sit in my room?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to lead me there, because this is my house but right now I’m a blind man.” He was smiling again, and Din found he really wished he could see his sharply glinting eyes at the same time, but seeing was being seen and he was already compromising himself hugely. He took Cobb’s hand and led him down the short hallway to the bedroom, where there was more red patchwork covering the bed. Cobb bumped into the foot of the bed and swore but then sat down on it with some relief. “Made it this far,” he said, and patted the quilt beside him. Din sat down, thinking belatedly that some part of his armour might snag or damage the quilt, and as Cobb turned to face him, hitching one knee up on the mattress, he put his hands to his face and kissed him again. It was already less embarrassing, and Cobb felt so eager and trusting, it was easy to keep trying to follow what he did with his lips and tongue and feel the heat of the kisses burning down into his lower body. He smoothed his hands down Cobb’s arms and felt firm muscle under his sleeves, still a layer of cloth between them, but his palms were tingling from touching so directly. 

“Talk to me,” Cobb breathed against his lips, putting his arms around his shoulders. “Tell me what feels good.”

“Uh…”

“You know what doesn’t feel so good?”

“What?”

“Trying to hug a guy in armour. Would you feel okay taking some of that off?”

It had been drilled into Din for as long as he could clearly remember that you took your armour off only for a practical reason, like repairs or hygiene, and you put it straight back on when you were done.  _ So Cobb can touch me is a practical reason.  _ “Give me a minute,” he said.

“I’d help, but you know, blindfold,” said Cobb. 

“I’m used to doing this for myself.” He got up and started undoing buckles and straps, trying to be quick and efficient although he still had these feverish shaky hands. He shed it piece by piece, and there had never seemed to be so many  _ pieces _ before. Once the codpiece was off his erection was tenting out his pants, and although it felt  _ so  _ much better he was glad Cobb couldn’t see that; it was humiliating to be affected like this by kissing. He was pulling off his boots before he thought maybe that wasn’t necessary, but it was done now, he was down to his shirt and pants like Cobb and he sat down with him and kissed him and felt him pull him into his arms. Then their chests were pressing together and it took the wind out of him. He wrapped his arms around Cobb’s waist and clung to him, trembling, unable to kiss him or do anything else. 

“Hey,” Cobb said quietly, “you okay, baby?”

He gave a kind of disbelieving huff of breath that almost had a sob in the back of it. “No one’s held me in a very, very long time.” 

“Want me to just hold you? Till you feel a little better?”

“You would?”

“Sure I would. C’mon up on the bed. Lie down here, that’s right. Now I’ll just hold you tight.” His cheek was on top of Din’s head and his arms were slim but strong around him. Din could feel their hearts beating together. There was still fabric there, still skin and muscle and ribs in between, but they felt so close it was shocking. He’d gone this far, it wasn’t going to make it that much worse if he pushed his one leg between Cobb’s and wrapped the other one over the top and clung to him. Cobb was rubbing a slow circle on his back. “You’re what they call touch starved, aren’t you? Human beings need to touch. It’s just how we’re made.”

“This isn’t what you wanted,” Din mumbled. 

“I want… to know you. Doesn’t matter to me how fast or slow that goes. I’m a patient man.” He paused in his rubbing. “Although maybe you want it to go faster, unless that’s a blaster in your pocket.”

Din scrunched his eyes shut in embarrassment. He’d wanted to get closer so much he’d forgotten Cobb would feel his erection against his thigh. “I’m not used to being touched, so…”

“Oh, okay, it just popped up. That’s fine. I won’t take it personal.” He went back to rubbing that slow circle on Din’s back. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Being like this about it. Popping up.”

“You mean enjoying it? Listen, darlin’, I take it as a very high compliment. Even if it is just because you don’t get touched enough.” He moved his leg a little and Din felt his cock twitch. That wasn’t helpful, but it hadn’t felt purposeful. If he lay still here and got comfortable, it should get soft again in a little while. And the bed was comfortable, worlds apart from his own shabby sleeping rack. The rack was good enough for him… but it was nice for a change. Maybe they would just go to sleep here. A night’s sleep with Cobb’s arms around him sounded good. 

His erection wasn’t going to let him. He hadn’t touched himself in a long time, with the kid around, and he’d successfully kept his mind off it, but this was too much stimulation, just lying here feeling their heartbeats, feeling the warmth of Cobb’s skin through his shirt, and if he hadn’t had a lifetime of discipline and self-denial he would have humped his thigh. 

His discipline and self-denial weren’t very strong at the moment. He was lying here without helmet or armour. His lips and chin were still tingling from kissing and the prickle of Cobb’s beard. It was stupid to pretend he hadn’t given up. He lifted his head and kissed Cobb again.

“Want some more?”

“Yes.” 

That led into long, deep kisses, finding the confidence to explore Cobb’s mouth with his tongue, since there didn’t seem to be anything he did that got a bad reaction, tracing over his lips, getting his own lips softly bitten, skimming his teeth. It was messy and wet, which seemed to be fine, and Cobb was guiding his hands to rub his chest and his firm flat belly. He pulled his shirt out of his waistband and touched his skin directly, catching his breath at the heat, the coarse hair and firm muscle. Cobb did the same, stroking the small soft pudge at his waistline. That sent a surge through his cock and he grunted low in his throat. 

“Lemme get this off,” Cobb mumbled, struggling with his buttons. Din hauled his own shirt off over his head and when they were pressed together again he could feel Cobb getting hard as well, pushing lightly against him, then pressing a hand between his legs and rubbing the bulge through his pants. “Is this too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

“Mmm.” The rubbing felt too good for him to talk. He reached for Cobb and did the same, breathing fast, hot air puffing against his face between kisses. It was shockingly exciting to feel the thick stiff shaft behind the cloth and know it was reacting to him. 

“Let me,” Cobb breathed, unsnapping Din’s fly. “Want you to feel so good.” He pulled his underwear down in front and held his bare cock in his hand, hot and leaking. Din ground into his palm. “See, baby? It’s all instinct. You know what to do. And what I want to do…” He hunched over and took Din’s cock in his mouth. Din breathed in sharply. He hadn’t been prepared for that and the feeling was unlike anything else. There was wet warmth and suction, and his hips twitched and his back arched. Cobb was sucking him, swirling his tongue, pumping Din’s shaft with one hand while he masturbated with the other. 

“Cuh-Cobb,” he stammered, grabbing his shoulders. He didn’t want to push him away but to hold him where he was. 

“Hmm?”

“Feels  _ good.” _

“Mmhmm.” 

The humming sound made it tickle and throb more. He lay back gasping, rubbing Cobb’s shoulders fitfully, hitching his backside against the bed. He wanted very badly to thrust into his mouth, but that seemed like a bad idea and anyway Cobb’s hand around his shaft kept him under control. He got to enjoy the feeling for just a short time before he came, trembling and moaning. Cobb swallowed hard, lifted his mouth and wiped it on the back of his arm. “I think you needed that, right?”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “Oh…”

“No one’s been takin’ care of you,” Cobb said, sitting up, still rubbing himself. “You know, I’m starting to enjoy doing this blindfold. Concentrating more on how it feels… how you taste…” He kissed Din again and he tasted traces of his own semen, salty and a little bitter. 

“Let me help you.” Din reached for his cock, rubbing and stroking as Cobb lifted his hand to let him. 

_ “Good _ hands.”

_ “I’ve _ been taking care of me, so…”

“Little more on the head. That’s it…” He kissed him and ran his hands up and down Din’s bare back, gripping tightly as Din found a way of turning his palm that he enjoyed. “That’s good, that’s so good, that’s gonna bring me… oh, baby,  _ yes.” _ He spilled in Din’s hand with a joyful shiver and held him tight as he wound down. For a while they lay close together, catching their breath. Din wiped his hand on Cobb’s belly and laid his head down on his shoulder, and Cobb pulled down the blindfold where it had crept up toward his cheekbone. 

“Sure am glad I didn’t just wait for our paths to cross again,” Cobb said with a deep contented sigh.

“Here, feel this.” Din brought Cobb’s hand to his face. He wasn’t thinking any more, only feeling euphoric.

“Well, I’ll be. Smiling. Oh — and kissing my hand, that’s smooth.” Cobb stroked back Din’s hair. “I’ve heard blind folks can feel your face and know what you look like, but I can’t figure out what you’d look like at all.”

“Could be the ugliest man in the Outer Rim.”

“Nah, you don’t feel ugly. Is it cheating to ask what colour your hair is?”

“Brown.”

“Your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Your skin?”

“Kind of brown. It’s not exciting.”

“Brown’s good, I like brown. And I like how your voice sounds when it doesn’t have that metal echo.” Cobb stretched out his legs and relaxed again. “I think I’ve got one more round in me. I want a drink first, though. I guess I can feel my way down the hall — or you could just go in the bathroom before I take the blindfold off.”

“Or you can stay here and I’ll get you your drink,” Din suggested, pulling up his pants. 

“Well, thank you. You’re a gentleman. Help yourself to one.”

Walking down the hallway toward the kitchen he felt floaty, light and unreal. He could smell Cobb on his skin and taste him in his mouth. There was his helmet sitting on the chest of drawers. He turned its face to the wall as he passed it. 

He went briefly into the living room to check the child was still asleep. He was fine, curled up in his blanket nest, his little claws twitching slightly as if he was dreaming. It occurred to Din that if the kid woke up and saw him now, he’d think there was a strange man in the house. That wasn’t a thought he wanted at the moment. Right now he was a strange man even to himself. He went through to the kitchen, found two more bottles in the icebox, and brought them back to the bedroom. Cobb had turned back the bedclothes and finished undressing, lying back on thin old white sheets with the vivid red scarf around his head.

“Welcome back,” he said, holding out his hand. Din placed the bottle in his hand, closing his fingers round it securely. “Here’s to you,” said Cobb, and drank. 

“To you,” said Din. He sipped, looking at Cobb on the bed. It seemed greedy to stand here and stare at a man he wouldn’t allow to see him, but he looked so good to him, long and slim and loose-limbed. He wanted to say something about that, but the words felt fake and clumsy in his mouth. He got back on the bed and lay beside him. 

“So when I say one more round,” said Cobb, “you got any requests?”

“Do you?”

“I guess you’re still learning what you like.”

“I liked everything you did with your mouth.”

“I’ll remember that. Now, if you don’t feel ready to do it, or it’s just not something you wanna do, I understand, but what I’ve been itching for is to feel you inside me.”

Once again, it was good that Cobb couldn’t see his face. He didn’t know what it was doing just now but he could feel it was red. “I’ve never done that but I could try.”

“It’s not that tough. You just put your cock in a nice warm, tight little hole and pump it. I’ll help you.” He put his hand on Din’s thigh, rubbing it through his pants. “And you can take those off. Or I will.” 

“I didn’t mean that to sound so…”

“Like a real aggressive pick-up line?” Cobb asked, grinning. 

“I wasn’t thinking of it that way.”

“And it wasn’t that kind of bar. But seriously, take ‘em off.” As he did, Cobb drank deeply and put his drink aside on the nightstand. He turned on his hip and ran his hand up and down over Din’s chest and belly. “Funny how it’s easier to picture your body than your face. I like this. Strong chest and shoulders. A little thicker in the middle. I did wonder, y’know, if the shape you looked was just the shape of your armour. Like you were poured into it,” he said with a little snicker.

“Don’t think too much about how it looks,” Din said. He didn’t want Cobb to talk himself into being tempted to take a peek. 

“No,” said Cobb, taking his drink from him and putting it with his. “Need to think about how... it...  _ feels.”  _ He rolled over on Din on his elbows and knees and kissed him slowly, lingering. Din wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down to feel the full-length press of his body on his. “So you can’t get enough of that now,” Cobb said with a smile. “You’ll need to let me move, but right now this is nice.” He lay in the embrace with his cheek pressed against Din’s, breathing softly and deeply so he felt the rise and fall of his chest. The closeness was making his heart thump and his skin tingle and the dark warm sensation in his groin pull tighter. His cock was making a valiant effort to be hard again, although it really hadn’t had time to be ready for that, so it just pulsed weakly. Cobb kissed his cheek, and the side of his neck, and his shoulder, murmuring “Anywhere you want it? Mouth at your command.”

“That’s good on my neck.”

“Neck it is.” He went on to give all angles of Din’s neck a prolonged, patient, thorough kissing, beginning with soft wet smooches and escalating to massaging with his tongue while sucking hard. “That’ll leave a mark,” he panted. 

“Can you do it again on the other side?”

“For symmetry? Nice.”

It wasn’t so much the symmetry as wanting the sensation to go on, along with how vividly the pressure and suction and the purposeful movements of Cobb’s tongue reminded him of the very recent past and had his cock stiff again. It was rubbing against Cobb’s belly; he was still soft but starting to nudge and rub against Din’s thighs as he moved slightly up and down. 

“You can touch me however you want to,” he breathed, drawing back from the fresh bruise and moving to lick the little indentation between Din’s collarbones. “But I do really want you to touch me. How about you rub my back? Feel me up a little.” 

Din wanted to just lie and let himself be carried away by the heat and pleasure he was feeling, but moved his hands to Cobb’s back and found that stroking him, feeling the lean flat muscle of his back and the wings of his shoulderblades, made it better. His palms tingled and he wondered if it could actually be feeling better to him through his hands that for Cobb through his back. 

“That’s so good,” Cobb sighed, kissing along his collarbone. “Squeeze my ass a little.” He slid his hands down to cup the small, firm cheeks and felt Cobb’s cock stiffen a bit a moment later. It made sense it was a sensitive place, but it was kind of funny and delightful to be able to squeeze one place and feel the other react. “You can play with it,” Cobb told him. “Rub it… get in between there… now do you do that for yourself too?”

“No.” His masturbation had always been limited to rubbing his cock and balls, sometimes humping a folded shirt or something else soft. It seemed like inadequate preparation. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed. Hold up.” He reached under the pillows, rummaged a little and pulled out a tube of lubricant. “Here, get some on your fingers. That’s right. Try rubbing my asshole now.” He kissed Din’s mouth again, stroking and sucking his tongue, rocking his hips as his rim twitched and yielded under slick finger pressure. 

“That good?” He was desperately hoping he wasn’t just being clumsy and hurting him.

“Fff… yes. You don’t have to be too careful, I’m all broken in. Push.” He grunted and then moaned deeply, pushing down hard on Din’s finger, taking it down to the second joint. “Reach in… can you feel my sweet spot? It’s in front. You’ll feel a little kinda lump. That’s it… you got it… oh, rub it, I love it.” He kept on gently coaching him to rub and stroke inside, to slip in another finger so that the rim felt tightly stretched around them until it gradually softened and relaxed a bit. It was still a snug fit and if Cobb’s reactions weren’t exaggerated it was acutely sensitive, particularly the “sweet spot” which made him grunt and quiver. Eventually he lifted up again, pulling Din’s hand with him. “You want to be inside me, baby? Want to fuck me?” He was panting and his lips were reddened from kissing, and his cock bobbed stiffly in front of him as he sat up on his knees.

_ “Yes.” _ He couldn’t believe how good Cobb looked or that this was for him.

“Okay, flying blind,” Cobb breathed. He squeezed slippery gel into his hands, rubbed them together and rubbed Din’s erection up and down, hand over hand, making him gasp and pant, before steadying his shaft and sitting down on it, enveloping it in soft slick heat. He grunted deeply and pressed his hands on Din’s chest, hitching up and down until he could settle. “Now hold my hips and fuck me hard.”

He was still nervous that it was going to hurt Cobb to put something that felt so large and hard here where it felt so soft and warm, but his own hips were already moving, he was pumping up into Cobb’s ass instinctively and it  _ squeezed _ him and he gasped at the pleasure of it. Cobb rode him briskly, his hipbones hard under his clutching hands, panting harder, bouncing roughly and giving gruff little grunts of mounting satisfaction. “That’s good —  _ good _ — oh!” A look of breathless joy spread over his face, what Din could see of it, and he wished there was more. He wanted more of everything but he was already overwhelmed.

“Stop, I’m too soon,” he blurted out.

“You’re gonna come?” Cobb asked, shuddering to a stop. “Hold back. You can do it. Deep breaths. We’re not done.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re doing fine for your first time. It’s your first time, right?”

“Yes…”

“My first time I came while I was trying to put it in, so you’re already doing better.”

“You weren’t my age.” The urgency was easing a bit; he no longer felt like he was going to peak humiliatingly soon and leave Cobb hanging.

“Try tilting your hips back a little — yeah, like that.”

“Will that help?”

“It’ll help me, you’re pushing right on the sweet spot now.” He bit his lower lip and ground down on it, and clear liquid leaked from the head of his cock. Din’s hips snapped up reflexively and Cobb laughed — for a second he thought it was at him and that felt terrible, but it was followed by another long, firm grind and a moan of  _ “Damn _ I love how eager you are. Makes me feel so hot.”

“You are,” Din said fervently. 

“You ready to go again?”

“Yes.” He tried to move more slowly and steadily this time but the pleasure built so quickly that soon he was pumping frantically. Cobb cried out and he felt a flash of panic that dropped him back from cresting. “Don’t wake the kid!”

“Then you should’ve gagged me as well as the blindfold,” Cobb moaned, but he was clearly straining to keep quiet from then on, while he rode on faster, even as he trembled violently and his cock spat glistening white across Din’s belly. 

_He came I made him come_ _that was me_ flashed through his head and then he peaked, and broke his own rule with the strangled noise he made. It was the _hardest_ orgasm he could remember ever having, a _crunch_ and then an explosion of pleasure. Cobb’s hand was immediately over his mouth, muffling him, and he was grateful because he couldn’t control anything now, he was helpless in the rush of it. When it was fading and he was just whimpering weakly, Cobb lifted his hand and whispered, “You okay?”

“Yes… oh…” He felt one last aftershock and then it seemed to be all over, he could rest. Cobb slumped down on his body, his chest heaving and his skin slick with sweat. 

“Oh Din… babe, you okay?”

“I said yes…”

There was a pause filled only by ragged, gradually slowing panting. Din remembered the child and strained his ears for any sounds beyond the bedroom door. Nothing. Thank goodness. Given how the kid had reacted to a friendly arm-wrestle with Cara, he didn’t care to imagine the panic and the violence of his reaction if he saw someone on top of Din making him yell out. He should have thought of that before they started, but he’d been so excited and stupid with desire he just hadn’t. He lifted a shaky hand and stroked Cobb’s back. “Thank you,” he said. It felt wildly inadequate. 

“Thank  _ you. _ I haven’t been laid like that in years.” He lifted his head and kissed Din softly. “Sorry about the noise. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Neither was I. It’s okay. I just didn’t want to scare him.”

“That’s a point,” Cobb said, laying his forehead down on the pillow beside Din’s head. “A little kid isn’t gonna think oh, Daddy’s just having fun with his friend but I think this is private so I’ll leave ‘em to it. He’s gonna think, the strange man’s hurting my daddy.”

“I’m afraid he’d think we were two strange men. Might not recognise me naked.”

“Hell, that’s worse. There are two strange men fighting in the bedroom and I don’t know where Daddy is. He’d be scared outta his wits. Won’t happen again.”

_ Won’t happen again. No, it won’t.  _ That was in-the-morning Din’s problem, though, and he refused to think about it now. He hugged Cobb and rubbed his back.

“Am I too heavy?”

“No, you feel good.” It was far too mild a way to say he felt comforting and loving and close in a way he had needed for longer than he could remember. He tried to get that across by the way he stroked his back and his hair, slow and hopefully soothing. 

“Then I’m gonna stay here, because you can’t always get a good fuck  _ and _ a good cuddle after.” Cobb sighed placidly. After a moment he gave a soft little snickering laugh. 

“What?”

“Oh, it’s bad taste. You said the other day ‘he’s seen worse.’ And I was still making up my mind whether you just wanted to kick my ass or you maybe had a really angry way of pitching woo, and I thought, ‘what the hell have you been doin’ in front of your kid?’ I just remembered that.”

“That is bad taste,” Din said, but it made him chuckle. 

“If anyone asks we got the best meet-cute story all lined up.”

“The only cute thing there was the kid.”

“He’s cute enough for all of us.” Cobb’s tone turned a bit wistful. “You really gotta let him go, huh?”

“I don’t have a choice. He’s… a special child. He’s got abilities I can’t help him with. Things I’d never seen before.”

“We’re talking about a toddler who doesn’t talk yet.”

“He’s fifty years old and he can levitate things with his mind.”

“What the  _ hell. _ You’re carrying around a little old man treating him like a baby?”

“He is a baby. At least he’s a little kid. I think his species matures very slowly. I’ve never met another one.”

“Well, that’s still weird but it’s a lot better kind of weird than the little old man deal,” Cobb said, relaxing. 

Din chuckled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to do that.”

“So his own people can help him learn to... levitate things better?”

“And safer. He’s used that kind of power to act on living things, too. He saved my life from a mudhorn. He nearly killed it by himself, I just finished it off.”

“So you’re both monster-slayers. You must have been proud of your boy.”

“Proud and scared. He could hurt someone. He nearly did. I was arm-wrestling with a friend. He thought she was actually hurting me, and she started to choke. I don’t understand how but he was pushing her windpipe closed from across the room. I realised what was happening and got him calmed down and she was okay, but it was… not good.”

“Are you telling me,” said Cobb slowly, “you were worried about making too much noise screwing and waking him up, not just because seeing that kind of thing is weird and scary and hard to explain to a little kid, but because if he’d panicked he could have  _ killed _ me?”

“I’m sorry. If I’d been thinking straight I’d’ve warned you before we started.”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t. There’s not a lot of things that could’ve put me off going for you but the death by scared baby thing would do it. And then I wouldn’t be so happy… albeit weirded out a little… as I am now.”

“You don’t regret it because of that?”

“No. But you better believe I’ll be quiet as a mouse next time.”

“You know,” Din said reluctantly, “next time may not be possible. We have to go in the morning.”

“You do?” Cobb sighed. “I guess I see why, but could we even push it to afternoon?”

“The longer we stay, the harder it will be to go.”

“That’s the sweetest compliment,” Cobb said, and kissed his cheek. “I wonder if I can change your mind with breakfast. I make pretty persuasive pancakes. But you don’t have to eat ‘em where I can see.” He eased himself up off Din’s body and flopped down to lie on his back beside him. “You should take a leak before we sleep. Not romantic, but it’s a good idea.”

“Right.” He hadn’t wanted to move as long as he could lie there under Cobb, but might as well now. He stumbled into the bathroom, just beginning now to feel how exhausted he was. He avoided his own gaze in the mirror as he cleaned himself up. 

When he returned to the bedroom it was just as pitch-black as Cobb had said, and once the bathroom light was off he had to shuffle forward in the dark to find the side of the bed and climb in. Cobb had pulled the covers up over his shoulders but lifted them to let him in and curled up close to him. He kissed him and felt that the scarf still covered his eyes; even in the dark he was keeping his word. He pressed a kiss on his forehead through the velvet, feeling grateful. 

“I figure when we wake up, best if I don’t see you by accident,” Cobb said in a drowsy murmur. “Anyway, I’m used to it now. I could get comfortable.”

“I like that you care about making me comfortable.”

“I like how you warm up and talk in bed.”

“I like your bed.”

“I like it better with you in it.” They were quiet for a minute or two, and Din was beginning to drift when he heard Cobb say his name. 

“Mmm?”

“I keep asking, can I ask you something. Can I tell you something?”

“Course.”

“My dad raised me on his own, up until I was ten and got sold away from him, and I never saw him again. He couldn’t stop that and I never blamed him. He was a good man and I loved him a lot, and I’m still hoping to live up to his example. So I know why I’ve got a soft spot for you, as a man on his own with a kid, even if the details are different. I guess I wanted to explain why I care so much all of a sudden, when I met you yesterday.”

“I see,” said Din. He privately thought Cobb had to be a lot braver and more determined than his father had been, but it didn’t do any good to criticise someone’s beloved dead parent, or try to judge someone whose situation you didn’t know.

“And I respect why you’re planning to let him go, even if I don’t altogether like it,” said Cobb. “I still feel like you should just stay together because he loves you. You’re his daddy. And I know it’s none of my damn business. Because I met you yesterday. That’s all.”

Din was too sleepy to think any more about it. “I’m glad I met you yesterday,” he mumbled, and drifted out. 

He woke in the dark. It was true what Cobb had said about his curtains. If it was daylight outside you’d never know it. He had no idea what it was in Tatooine time and the chronometer in his helmet wasn’t in the room. It was disorientating, but everything was — he was waking up naked and bare-faced in a strange bed. Cobb was sleeping beside him, curled towards him, not touching but close enough for him to feel warmth. He reached out a hand across the pillows, very carefully so he didn’t just poke him in the face, and felt that the blindfold was still in place. 

Din lay there trying to think what he should do. He was way, way out of his depth and the contented, post-orgasmic feeling that things would somehow be all right from last night had faded. He needed to pee. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know if the kid was awake. His head wanted him to get dressed immediately and make himself normal again in case anyone saw him. The whole rest of his body wanted to stay put and get closer to Cobb, with the sole exception of his bladder which was increasingly insistent that he needed to get up right now. He wasn’t going to be able to think clearly until he did that, so he slipped out of bed and felt his way blind to the bathroom door. 

When he was safely in and had the door shut he felt around to find the light. The bathroom had two doors, one out into the hallway, and he quickly shut that, but not before seeing that it was grey rather than black in the rest of the house, suggesting it was morning or close to it. He urinated for a long time and then went to the sink to wash his face and hands, then pushed his hair back with wet hands. This time he looked, and the mirror showed him a very ordinary, sleepy-looking man with an embarrassing crop of hickeys on his neck. He didn’t think he looked like someone anyone would have feelings of passion about, but there was the evidence. Or someone who would have his own feelings of passion, but the reason why was sleeping in the next room. 

And he thought he should be back in armour, but he  _ wanted _ to be back in bed. He was shocked by how much he wanted that. Every thought about the Way or just about common sense was getting shouted down by a throng of thoughts about how good Cobb smelled and how his skin and his hair felt, and his hot wet mouth and his tight yielding ass and the sounds he made and the way they had joined and moved together and how it could surely be even better when he wasn’t overwhelmed by the newness of it. His whole skin was demanding more of that touching and comfort and pleasure. It seemed to be one of those “give them an inch, they’ll take a mile” things. Or about a parsec. 

And it wasn’t just the touching and how good it felt, it was the things he said (he would neither have imagined anyone would ever call him “baby” or “darlin’” nor that he would like it if they did until he heard it in Cobb’s voice) and how joyfully enthusiastic he was, how he acted as if Din going to bed with him was the best thing that could possibly have happened. No doubts, no worries. 

_ He doesn’t even know what I look like.  _

_ Does that matter? Say he really was a blind man, I wouldn’t think he didn’t know what he wanted just because he picked me sight unseen.  _

_ But he’s not a blind man and he could see me if he wanted to.  _

_ He kept that blindfold on the whole time so I would be comfortable. If he did want to see me, he missed out for my sake.  _

_ I wanted to see him. All of him, including his eyes. Truth is I wanted him to see me.  _ He couldn’t stop imagining how Cobb might look at him if he liked what he saw, and even the thought of how crushed and stupid he would feel if Cobb didn’t wasn’t enough to stop that wanting. 

_ I’ve already done the worst. The whole blindfold thing is just… stabilisers on a kid’s first speeder. It let me kid myself I wasn’t cheating long enough for me to cheat really, really hard. I already made the real choice to break with the Way, and nobody trapped, tricked or forced me into it. He offered me every chance to turn back and it just made me want to go on more. That’s how it was.  _

He stared at himself.  _ So what do I do now? What the hell do I do? Is there a way back? Do I just pretend this didn’t happen and try to live with it? _

He had no answer, and he still wanted to go back to bed with all his heart, so he did, sliding back between soft, crumpled sheets and finding Cobb, warm and solid, turning towards him with a sigh in the dark, and a kiss, and another. 

“Morning,” Cobb said, a little indistinctly against his lips.

“Is it morning?”

“Feels like morning. What time does your kid wake up?”

“Mostly too early.” He would soon be scuttling around looking for things to get into. 

“Think we’ve got time?”

“What for?” No matter how tempting another round like last night was, it would take more time than he thought they had. 

“Something quick but sweet. Give me your hand. Remember how I like it?”

It was a few minutes of breathless wet kissing and feverish mutual rubbing while listening for any hint of a sound from outside, which he thought should have ruined it but only increased the intensity of what he felt. The climax left him dizzy and tingling and desperate to have more, particularly as he was a little more confident each time. He was going to suggest that they try when he heard a small, glassy smashing sound from elsewhere in the house. 

Cobb, who had been lying beside him catching his breath, sat upright abruptly and smacked his hand about on the bedhead until he hit the button that turned on a light. The sudden glare hurt Din’s eyes but he made out that the blindfold was slipping off and yanked the quilt up over his head. 

“You’re hiding under the covers while your kid is smashing my glasses?” Cobb asked. Then he sighed. “Sorry, I get it. Stay there.” Din lay still with his heart thumping with shame while hearing Cobb hop around pulling on his pants in a hurry, then leaving the room with a slightly too cheerful “Hey, little buddy! What’s going on out here?”

_ What do I do? Don’t be a coward and go and deal with your destructive child. Who won’t recognise you. Why in hell did I leave the helmet in the main room? Can I get it back without either of them seeing me? _ Any wistful thoughts about wanting Cobb to see him had gone out the window and he felt in his gut that that would be very, very wrong. All his suspended inhibitions were crashing back into place and he was cold and nauseated with thoughts of how disappointed and disgusted everyone who had protected and taught and raised him would be. No true Mandalorian would have even  _ wanted _ to do what he had done.

At the same time he could hear Cobb’s voice, relaxing into a more natural cheerfulness with relief. “Hey, that’s okay. That’s not my favourite precious glasses, it’s just an old bottle. Were you trying to get a snack? You sit up here and you eat — uh — these crackers, and Uncle Cobb is gonna clean up this broken glass before someone steps on it. Like me. In my bare feet.”

Din scrambled out of bed and began dressing, because at the very least he could do that. He was in his shirt and underwear and was kneeling on the floor trying to reach his pants, which had somehow got kicked entirely under the bed, when he heard Cobb say, “You wanna be a helper? Here you go. Take this in to Daddy. Show him how cool you look.” He looked up in a panic and saw his helmet waddling in at the bedroom door. No, it was the kid  _ under _ the helmet, which came down over his shoulders. Din could hear muffled giggling. The current of panic and guilt was still there but now there was also a gush of  _ that’s so stinking cute _ and a wave of relief and gratitude at Cobb’s quick thinking. The kid toddled forward, banged into the corner of the bed base and sat down with a bump. 

“Thank you, buddy, I was looking for that,” he said quickly. He helped the kid onto his feet, then turned him to face away from him with one hand and lifted off the helmet with the other. Held the kid still for the second it took to flip the helmet over and slide it down on his own head. Breathed out in immense relief and tried not to think about how strange he looked half dressed. The child was still giggling and wriggling in his arms. Din felt little clawed hands eagerly patting his arm, then grabbing his thumb and gripping it. Of course. He’d never seen his bare hands before, had he? He didn’t seem scared of the unfamiliarity at all. Din would be a lot happier to sit on the floor and let the kid play with and explore his hands — actually, that sounded delightful — if he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of what they’d just been touching. He had wiped them on the sheet but still, this was crossing a line. “I have to go to the bathroom, kiddo,” he said guiltily. “Can you, uh…” He couldn’t sit him on the bed, that was worse. 

Cobb rescued him one more time by popping his head around the bedroom door. “Oh good. You’re up,” he said. “I need my deputy. We’re making you pancakes. C’mon, buddy, I’ll let you crack the eggs.” The child hopped down from Din’s lap and scuttled out of the room after him, because apparently now they were best friends. Cobb did possess a lot of twinkly-eyed charm, he just somehow hadn’t thought it would work that fast. 

He managed to retrieve the pants and went into the bathroom where he stripped off again and firstly washed his hands and arms up to the elbow. A lot of deep space travel with a limited water tank on your ship prepared you for the kind of water conservation that was daily life on Tatooine, but here they also relied a lot on cleansing lotions wiped off with soft rags (which were cheaper to throw away and burn than the water to wash and reuse them would be). He felt a little bad about using up a lot of Cobb’s bathroom supplies, but he’d rather not stink of sweat when he went back out. He also embarrassed himself badly by finding a respectably large buttplug while looking for toothpaste. All broken in indeed. Whle he was getting dressed again, quickly now with the speed of efficient habit, he wondered vaguely if that comment about “haven’t been laid like that in years” just meant he hadn’t  _ enjoyed _ it that much in years (which would be very flattering and touching if so) or that it actually hadn’t  _ happened _ in years. If the latter, it had to be a choice; Cobb was one of the best-looking men he’d ever seen, and warm and confident and charming besides. If he’d wanted a partner, for however long or short a term, he would surely have found one. Admittedly there weren’t a lot of people to choose from in Mos Pelgo, but he had a big powerful speeder built from a cut-down pod-racer — he could always have travelled to a larger town to meet someone. Unless he just stayed in town because he was such a dutiful marshal he didn’t think he should leave his people alone to go and attend to what he personally wanted. 

Safely, fully armoured again, he went into the kitchen and discovered that (1) Cobb owned an apron, (2) Cobb wearing an apron over his bare chest made him feel strange and interesting, (3) the kid liked to eat eggshells and was festooned with little fragments of them, also raw yolk. Din tried to mop the worst of the mess off him while Cobb continued to flip pancakes, because of course he could jauntily flip and catch pancakes, and cast occasional affectionate glances his way. 

“You look nice this morning,” Cobb said a little wryly as he turned off the stove burner and slid the last pancake onto a plate which he re-covered with a clean dishtowel to keep them warm. “You two get started on these, I’m going to clean up.” He added a further new experience to Din’s day by swiftly goosing his bottom as he passed. That was not something a fully kitted out Mandalorian usually had to contend with. 

“Okay,” Din said, trying to pretend he was having a normal morning without dizzying highs and devastating lows, or at least without being touched on the butt. “Breakfast.” He got the kid set up at the table, sitting on a pile of books from the shelves in the main room, with a cup of blue milk, a plate of pancakes and the greenish local equivalent to butter. After a moment’s deep consideration, he also served some for himself, sat down opposite, and began to eat while lifting his helmet just enough for each bite. It was what he did on the  _ Razor Crest _ but doing it in another environment felt risky. As always, the kid was fascinated and peered at whatever he could see of his chin and mouth. He thought of Cobb’s story of watching his father shave as a child and wondered if the kid was going to remember a morning like this with that kind of fond reminiscence. 

“You think you’ll remember this?” he asked. “That we came here? Who we met? What would you remember more, the big scary dragon, or the cookout and the pancakes? Maybe the nice man who made you the pancakes.” The child looked back at him curiously, gradually munching an entire pancake, held in both hands, into his little mouth. Din sighed. “I hope you remember something good from your time with me.” Not just fights and explosions and peril. 

“Of course he will,” said Cobb, ambling back in wearing a clean faded blue shirt. “He’ll remember you.” He sat down and pulled the covered dish over to his plate to serve himself. 

“They’re good,” Din said. “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure he could eat any more with Cobb sitting there beside him, but he didn’t want to be rude or ungrateful. It turned out the one emotion that could convincingly push against all the inhibition and shame was love. He rejected the idea that it was just desire, it would have been (even) worse to have betrayed his principles like this just because he desperately wanted to have sex with a handsome, charming man, but the realisation that he had fallen in love made it not forgivable but comprehensible. He sat staring at the pancakes and half-hearing Cobb telling the kid some kind of joke and thought  _ I’m in love. I fell in love yesterday, or maybe already the day before. I’m in love with the man sitting beside me.  _ It was equally thrilling and appalling. 

He cut off a piece of pancake with the edge of his fork, raised it and tilted up his helmet the very least bit possible to let him put it in his mouth. He both hoped Cobb hadn’t noticed, so it wouldn’t be a big thing, and wanted him to notice so he understood that it was a big thing. Nothing happened, so he took a second bite. 

“Forgot coffee,” said Cobb. “Where’s my head at?” He pushed his chair back briskly, got up and went to make it, leaving Din feeling vaguely snubbed that he was sitting here compromising his belief system to try to indicate, however inappropriately, that he felt very close to Cobb, and getting no reaction. Well, there were a lot of pancakes, and it was a shame not to fill up while he could, and he was going to have to be quick to get his share when the kid was now, with a look of grave concentration, levitating the dishtowel and floating a couple more pancakes towards his plate, which he hadn’t even cleared yet. 

“Oh,” said Cobb, and Din turned to see him standing, coffee pot and two mugs in hand, staring with his eyebrows up and his forehead creased.

“I did tell you,” Din said. 

“I know, but you said like… protecting you from danger, I didn’t picture it as… snaffling pancakes.”

“He’s a little kid,” said Din, shrugging one shoulder. “And they’re good pancakes.”

The kid looked up from what he was doing and looked a little troubled by Cobb’s expression. The pancakes sagged in the air. 

“No, it’s okay, you take as many as you want. I made lots,” said Cobb quickly. “I saw how much you ate yesterday, you’ve got a black hole for a tummy, don’tcha?”

“That might explain it,” said Din. Cobb placed a mug in front of him and poured out steaming coffee, then sat down with his own. He noticed that when he sat, he scooted his chair closer to his own. Their knees touched under the table. “Thank you,” he said. 

“My pleasure,” said Cobb. He watched, fascinated, as the child raised a wobbling heap of pancakes and began to float them over. Din reached over and stopped them with his fork.

“You finish what you’ve already got before you take more,” he said. “Leave some for other people.” There was a brief battle of wills before the child let the pancakes flop back on the plate and returned to his existing portion. “That’s better. When we’re guests, I want to see your good manners, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Cobb said. “I like seeing folks enjoy my cooking. I’m usually just cooking for one, so it’s a treat. But,” he added, “far be it from me to undermine a parent at work. Mind your daddy, greenbean,” he told the child with a smile and a wink. 

Din raised his helmet enough to take a sip of coffee. He hadn’t meant to, but he inadvertently made a slight slurping noise that caught Cobb’s attention. His eyes cut swiftly sideways towards him and then away again, and he resumed eating without saying anything, but his knee pressed lightly against Din’s under the table. Din cleared his throat and reached for the butter, while the pancakes were still warm enough to melt it. The meal went on for a minute or two uninterrupted, the only sounds knives and forks clinking on plates, mouths chewing and sipping. The kid sometimes looked curiously from Din to Cobb and back again, maybe thinking that it was unusual for someone else to be eating with them, maybe picking up in some way on the closeness between them. He looked happy either way, swinging his little feet and wagging his big ears as he ate. Din exchanged a glance with Cobb, and it would be nice if there were a way to let Cobb know that his besotted smile was mirrored on his own face. 

He was pretty sure now that there would be no direct acknowledgement of the fact he was eating and drinking in front of Cobb, and had decided to appreciate that as Cobb accepting it discreetly. Maybe it just seemed natural to him that Din would be comfortable enough to do so now, or that it wouldn’t be a big deal after everything else. When “everything else” had been so intensely sexual, he supposed Cobb wouldn’t recognise this kind of intimacy as quite so  _ intimate _ as he felt it was, not without further explanation. He didn’t want to have to directly explain that he was still breaching an important boundary for love; it would be nice to feel it was just intuitively understood. Then Cobb caught his eye again, and the besotted smile was still there but he realised it was for him now, and maybe he  _ did _ understand, and the thought of that made him so heart-squeezingly happy that he just sat there immobilised with his helmet half-raised instead of covering himself again — though he was unable to return the smile with a mouthful of buttery pancake. 

“You got a little,” said Cobb, and reached over and brushed a drop of melted butter off his chin with his forefinger, then popped it into his own mouth. That was playing dirty and he clearly knew it; his eyes were glinting with mischief. 

“You’re going to do that in front of the kid?” Din asked.

“He’s seen worse,” said Cobb, smirking and pushing his knee against Din’s under the table. Din lowered his helmet firmly, but pushed back.  _ The longer we stay, the harder it will be to go.  _ He sternly reminded himself of his quest, and his duty to the child, and then finally, with a bit of persuasive force, that trouble had a way of finding them and it would be completely unfair to Cobb and the little community he’d worked so hard to protect to bring that down on them. No matter how good it would feel to linger over breakfast and help with the dishes and get talked, or talk himself, into staying for lunch, that would outweigh the goodness with irreparable harm. He’d found the resolve he needed to leave.

He helped with the dishes anyway, because it was only polite, and because he was clinging to the last few moments of this cosy domestic feeling. Then, though, he announced that they would have to leave. 

“You’d better go to the bathroom now, pal,” he told the child, “because I’m not stopping ten minutes down the road to let you off to pee.” He scuttled off, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

“I’ll make you a lunch,” Cobb began to offer, but Din cut him off, stepping in and putting his arms around him, letting his head hang forward over his shoulder. He didn’t squeeze him tight, the beskar would only have hurt him, but he gave himself that moment of contact. He felt Cobb’s arms wrap tight around his waist. He tilted up his helmet a little so he could speak directly by Cobb’s ear, with no metallic modulator tone to his voice. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for everything, you don’t know what you mean to me.”

“I could take a wild guess,” said Cobb with a shaky laugh. “I really can’t get you to stay, huh? Family breakfast didn’t do the trick.”

“In a family the parents have to put the kids ahead of what they want.”

Cobb sighed. “I know. I really do. But I know  _ you _ know how it feels to be starving and have the best meal of your life put in front of you, but you can only eat it once.” 

There was a short, confused pause. “You can usually only eat a meal once,” said Din. 

“You’re the meal, dumbass.”

He still wasn’t sure what Cobb was getting at but he had to keep going. “I just want to say goodbye quickly in front of the kid, not make a big deal of it or upset him. He likes you.”

“I like him.” There was a catch in Cobb’s voice that made him worry about tears.

“So I needed to say goodbye to you now.”

“I’d feel way better if you made it ‘so long’ or ‘see you around.’”

“I think… it’s best if we make it goodbye. I don’t know what’s going to happen and neither do you and I don’t want to leave you with any expectations I can’t make good on. I think we just call this a good surprise, and remember it gratefully.”

“And if our paths cross again?”

“Then I’ll feel lucky.”  _ The longer I hold you the harder it is to let go. _

“Din?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t say goodbye. I want you to come back. When you can.”

“When I can,” he agreed, which was a half-assed non-promise, but he wanted to give Cobb that much comfort. 

“I know I might be a fool to fall for you as fast and hard as I have, but I also know I’d always regret it if I didn’t tell you.”

Din breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to fill his head and his lungs with the smell of Cobb’s neck and hair, and let his breath out equally slow. “As would I,” he said. 

“Well okay then.”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Count of three?” Cobb suggested helpfully. “One, two… three.”

They let go, reluctantly, and Din stepped back, pulling his helmet down. 

“Hey,” said Cobb, putting his hands to the sides of the helmet.

“Don’t,” said Din, afraid he was going to try to take it off for a last kiss. He couldn’t handle that.

“Wasn’t gonna,” said Cobb, and tipped Din’s head down and kissed the helmet just above the eye-slit. He stepped back again and rubbed the back of his hand briskly under his nose with a hard sniff, blinking away a suspicion of tears. “Let’s get this show on the road then.”

They set off a few minutes later, the kid snug in a saddlebag, the reclaimed armour securely strapped to the speeder. It had been a short, simple goodbye, or on Cobb’s part, a jaunty “So long, partner.” The engine thrummed and the wind hissed and the endless dunes unfolded in front of them, and he didn’t look back to see the lanky figure waving them off out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise is kept, a wanderer returns, and there's a lot to unpack, although he arrives with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written and rewritten and edited round a lot so that events from the first draft happened in a different order (I realised I'd had one important thing happen far too early) and in different places; I hope the finished product flows okay as it is and the stitches aren't too visible.

The cantina was quiet this evening. Cobb sat alone with a glass of spotchka, because he was tired after a long day, but it was good to show his face in the evening and say hi to folks as they passed by. Things had been peaceful lately, with the dragon dead and the Tuskens keeping their end of the bargain. He had had to have a few strong words with the occasional townsperson who didn’t understand what the “no provocation” end of the bargain involved (and crack together the heads of two teenagers who thought bantha-tipping was still an acceptable evening’s recreation), but overall, yes, peaceful. No bandits or slavers had passed through the area in a while, and so far it hadn’t mattered that he no longer had his armour. He was thinking about how he might make up that deficit, though, because peace like this couldn’t last forever and it was always good to have at least a moderate deterrent. He’d worked together with a couple of engineers on trying to cobble together their own version of the armour, but they simply didn’t have the expertise; they were used to working with mine machinery and commonplace vehicles. He was thinking about looking up the Jawas again to see if they had anything similar, or maybe taking a couple of days’ trip into Mos Eisley to see what was in the second-hand stores. 

Of course, if he found and wore more Mandalorian armour, and Din found out about it, he would be furious with him for breaking, if not the word, the spirit of their deal — it had never been “return that armour in exchange for my help with the dragon, and I won’t mind if you go and get yourself some more.” Armour like that was sacred to Din. He’d understood in general terms before meeting him that it was definitely off limits to non-Mandalorians, but only once he met him and got to know him a little did he have any real idea of what it meant to him emotionally. There were definitely a lot of conflicting feelings there, with his combination of dedication and pride in wearing the full suit almost full time, but also his desperate hunger to be touched and loved and known. That kind of conflict tended to make people double down on the side they personally wanted less, but believed in the rightness of more. Din wouldn’t go easy on him.

So yes. If he found and wore more Mandalorian armour, and Din found out about it, he would be furious with him, but that would involve Din finding out about it, which would require Din to come back and see him, and he wanted that so deeply and painfully that even if he turned up furious Cobb would just be happy to see him. 

He hadn’t fallen in love like that in years, and although you remembered a lot about times in the past, you didn’t remember the feeling the way you experienced it in the thick of it, kind of like how you could remember the  _ fact _ that an injury hurt like hell, and how your body had reacted to the pain, but you couldn’t actually summon up the pain in your memory. If it happened again, it still came as a shock to the system. 

So it was a shock to his system to feel all the confusion and trepidation and dawning joy of falling in love, and the total ecstasy of consummating that love, and then the dread of knowing it was ending soon, and then the terrible emptiness of the absence. He’d kept the sheets he and Din had slept together in on the bed for a week, until basic self-respect had driven him to change them. No more sleeping surrounded by the smell of him. He hadn’t left a single thing behind as a memento. True, Cobb hadn’t asked him for a memento or given him any of his own, but he still felt the lack of it. He’d had more dreams about him than about anything else, even the nightmares he still sometimes got about being lost in the desert again and the ground opening at his feet and slithering down unstoppably, unable to get any grip on the flowing sand, struggling and thrashing every inch of the way, into the dragon’s maw, because seemingly the nightmare-generating part of his brain didn’t keep up with current events. It never really had. There had actually been one dream where just as he was about to slip down past the point of no return a hand from above had grabbed his, and he had looked up to see the helmet silhouetted against the sky, and Din had pulled him up and out with a strength no man really possessed and held him in his arms and felt him all over to make sure he was all right and kissed him passionately — the helmet was gone but the suns were behind him, so he was just a shadow, because the dream couldn’t come up with a face for him. He wouldn’t have minded that dream continuing, but it came just before he woke in the morning.

He hadn’t had a single dream he could remember the night they’d slept together. Probably too tired and too contented to dream. He tended to kick and would sometimes roll himself right out of bed with a bad nightmare, so Din had been lucky there.

Imagine if Din could be there to hold him and soothe him down after one of those nightmares.

He still had next to no idea what the man he was so consumingly in love with even looked like, other than the little glimpse he’d been afforded of his chin and his lower lip as he ate. He’d masturbated to the mental picture of that glimpse more times than was probably healthy. He only knew his first name, unless Din was his last name. He’d mentioned being a bounty hunter, but practically every Mando you ever heard of was a bounty hunter. A Mandalorian bounty hunter with a cute little green baby might be easier to get news of, but when you were making your enquiries from the ass end of nowhere, no news was all that easy to get. Describe him. Well, he’s a Mandalorian. So he looks like… a Mandalorian. A very shiny and impressive one. He has a little moustache and some scruff on his chin and I know his skin is light brown and I have his word that his hair and his eyes are brown too, not that he’ll let you see any of that. He has a nice dick, too, is that enough identifying information?

He was still proud to serve his little community here, he still felt a deep drive to protect these people from the harsh world around them, but he was so damn lonely and he didn’t want anybody else. 

And the fact Din was such a good man that he would leave him to protect his kid and do right by him only made Cobb love him more. 

And when he’d finished this drink, he would resist the urge to have another, because that wasn’t a path he wanted to start on, and then he’d say goodnight and go home to his empty, empty house and masturbate to his memories and sleep, and start again the next day.

He knocked back the spotchka and tried to savour the way it burned down into his belly, and was preparing himself to get up when the chatter in the room fell silent and all eyes turned towards the doorway. Against the sunset light was the unmistakable silhouette of a Mandalorian,  _ his _ Mandalorian. He sprang to his feet so fast that he knocked over his chair. Then there was a moment’s crushing doubt as he thought it wasn’t his Mandalorian after all, then resurgent joy as he turned and registered Cobb’s presence and walked towards him and it absolutely was him, in every detail. Cobb’s heart was pounding and the only thing that stopped him rushing over to throw his arms around him was a feeling that Din was a pretty private person and might not like such a public display being sprung on him. 

Din reached his table and stood there quietly. He looked… defeated. Cobb still couldn’t stop smiling. “Long time no see,” he said, with all the restraint he had. “Sit down and shoot the breeze?”

Din nodded and sat down, heavily. Cobb signalled to the barkeep for a fresh glass — no sense in ordering for Din — and tried to get his face under control. His overwhelming joy at seeing Din again had to be offset against the reason why he must have come back, the reason he’d promised to come back — that he had found the kid’s people and left him with them. By the looks of him, just his posture, it had hit him very, very hard.

“You okay?” he asked, picking up his chair and sitting again. 

“Fine,” said Din quietly. 

“And the little guy?”

“He’s safe. He’s where he should be.”

“You did right by him,” Cobb said, reaching across the table to squeeze Din’s gloved hand. 

“I am so… tired,” Din said, and nothing more. People were watching them with concern. There had been excitement at first, the hero’s return, with an element of fear, because if a hero appeared and you didn’t know what was wrong yet, he might just have got there ahead of the trouble, but now they just looked worried, and Cobb realised he needed to get Din away from this level of attention. 

“Put you up at my place tonight?” he asked gently. 

“Please.” 

“C’mon, then.” He shook his head in apology to the barkeep, who was just bringing the spotchka, got up and led Din out into the street. It was going to be so, so hard to be the sort of support he clearly needed right now, unless the support he needed was to be joyfully kissed all over — and it probably wasn’t. But when Cobb took his hand again, he held it tightly, and he heard a faint tinny sigh, maybe of comfort. 

When they got inside he was a little embarrassed by the state of the place. It had been clean and tidy last time, in part because he’d put things in order when he didn’t know if he’d be coming back from the hunt. Today it was still clean, but less tidy, with the latest patchwork project spread out on the table and snips of thread on the floor. Din stopped and looked for a moment, then said, “You made your quilt and things yourself?”

“I like to keep busy. The entertainment options of a town this size are limited. Attempts at community theatre have not gained traction. It’s drink, shoot small animals or get a hobby.” And keep yourself occupied during the long solitary evenings until you were able to sleep. 

“That’s… nice. What is it?”

Cobb cleared his throat, hoping the topic wasn’t going to be a sore one. “Baby blanket. Schoolmistress is having her first. I wanted to show her my gratitude, you know, this isn’t a great post and she came a long way for it. Found a good gal here, though.”

“It’s nice,” said Din again, though there was little enthusiasm in his voice. 

“Come on. Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the chairs. Din looked at it for a moment, then sluggishly reached back and unslung a long spear from his back. That was new, Cobb thought. Dragonslayer’s lance? The long rifle, the jetpack, were set down and propped against the wall. He sat down, his legs sliding out in front of him and his hands hanging loosely between his knees. Cobb watched him, worried. “Baby,” he said gently, “are you really okay?”

Din shook his head. 

“What do you need?”

“To lie down.”

“Sure.”

“And… will you hold me? Just hold me. I’m sorry.”

“That’s nothing to be sorry for. Come here.” He helped him up and guided him down the hall to his room, and drew the curtains. For the first time he helped him out of the armour, taking pieces as Din unfastened them and laying them aside. Bandolier, holster belts, blaster pistols, an unfamiliar angular black device that hung from the belt. Din didn’t touch the helmet and neither did he. When he had stripped off the outer flight suit and was down to his soft inner shirt and pants Din put his hands on Cobb’s shoulders, unwinding the red scarf from around his neck. 

“This is just so I can take it off,” he said. “It’s not…”

“I understand that.” He stood quietly and let Din bind the scarf around his eyes, and he was pretty sure he managed to keep breathing naturally and not show how it affected him. He’d been blindfolding himself some nights, which had only intensified the associations. When it was securely tied, he expected to feel Din’s hands lift away so he could remove his helmet, but they slid back down to his shoulders. 

“Will you take it off me?” Din asked. 

“Of course I will, if you want me to. You sure?”

“Please.”

“Okay. If I clip your nose ‘cause I’m not used to this, I’m sorry.” He was pretty sure Din meant this as a gesture of great trust, and he was deeply moved by that, and he would just need to bite down on how much he wanted to kiss him unless Din asked for that too. Nothing to wreck comforting someone like getting too frisky. He put his hands to the sides of the helmet, feeling the cool smooth metal against his palms, and lifted it up and off. It was easier than he’d imagined it. They were standing right by the foot of the bed, so it was easy to lay the helmet down on it. He didn’t want to stand around holding it but clearly dropping it on the floor would be one of the rudest things he could do. He felt Din’s chest bump into his and his arms wrap tightly around his waist, and he put his own arms around his shoulders and stroked the back of his head (soft, slightly sweaty, messy hair) and felt Din lower his head on his shoulder and stand pressed against him for a few long seconds, feeling his warmth and breathing in his smell. 

“Okay?” he murmured. 

“Thank you,” mumbled Din. 

“Want to lie down?”

“Uh-huh.” Din guided him to climb onto the bed, crawling up till he could lie with his head on the pillows, then curling around him, tucking his head under his chin, and clinging to him tightly. It made tears prickle in Cobb’s eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Cobb murmured, rubbing his back. “Whatever happened, you’re here with me, you’re gonna be safe, I’ll look after you. Rest easy.”

Din was breathing loudly, not crying, but sounding close to it. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You can stay just as long as you want.”

“I’m sorry,” Din mumbled. 

“What for?”

“Asking so much of you.”

“This is not hard to do. Holding you is nice.” He’d angled himself so Din shouldn’t feel it if he got an erection and he was set to do this all night if need be.

It began to seem that need would be, because he felt Din’s body gradually relaxing, seeming to grow heavier, and then realised he was asleep. 

“Oh, darlin’,” Cobb whispered, “what happened to you?”

During the night Din had clung to him, but by the time Cobb woke in the morning he found that he had rolled away. A cautiously patting hand discovered that Din was lying on his back with his arms folded across his chest, as if hugging himself. He seemed very self-contained, like he’d absorbed all the comfort he needed and then withdrawn. Cobb still felt a need to be close to him, though, so he inched over and laid his arm over Din’s chest above his arms and one leg over both his, which he could now feel were crossed at the ankle. Was this how Din normally slept? All closed up? It would figure. The blindfold was still soft over his eyes, and the room was blacked out anyway, so he was at no risk of temptation to peek. He probably shouldn’t do anything to wake him up, either, should let him sleep until he woke naturally. 

“Got you right here and I’m still missing you,” he whispered. “How’s that for a sad song? I could really start to feel sorry for myself.”

Din made a faint sound; maybe he wasn’t as fast asleep as he seemed, for being so still. Cobb stopped for a moment, then stroked his upper arm with his thumb, enjoying the smooth swell of the muscle in this position. Din’s armour made his shoulders look huge and the reality was more moderate but still very pleasing. Din’s legs twitched, he grunted and after a moment he inhaled with a little gasp. Cobb felt his head lift, and he exhaled heavily through his nose. 

“Hey,” Cobb said quietly. 

“Hrm,” said Din. After a moment he said, “Cobb.” His voice was low and gravelly with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

A faint sigh, and Din rolled towards him and folded his arms around him, tucking his head under his chin again. 

“Good morning,” Cobb said, pleased. “How you feeling?”

“Tired,” said Din into his chest, and nothing else for a while. Then, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome as always.”

“You’re… very kind.”

“Well, it’s nice to be kind when I can. You know? To kind of indulge in it? So much of this life doesn’t let you be kind.”

“Hmm.” Din lifted one arm to rub his eye. “Still feels weird.”

“Waking up with nothing over your face?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got the opposite. Something over mine. Doesn’t feel bad, though.” He kissed Din’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re back with me. I missed you every day. I can see you’re hurting, but I want you to know that.”

“I’m glad I had you to go back to.”

“You want some breakfast?” Cobb asked. 

“No,” Din mumbled. “Just… stay.”

“All right.” He circled his hand slowly over Din’s upper back. “Happy to.” He felt the rise and fall of Din’s breathing, chest against his belly, and a deep, warm surge of tenderness for him, feeling so trusted. Din was quiet for so long that he began to wonder if he was drifting back into sleep, but eventually he cleared his throat again and eased back to rest his head on the pillow beside Cobb’s. Another slow, deep exhalation; without being able to see anything, Cobb was acutely conscious of every sound he made.

“You wanted to know what happened,” Din said.

“When you’re ready. No hurry.”

“It’s a lot.”

“What’s the most important thing?”

“For it all to make sense, I think I need to go right back to the start, to the bounty that led me to — well, first things first, the kid had a name. I finally found it out.”

“I wondered why you didn’t tell me his name. Then I thought wait, are names a private thing for Mandalorians? Because you only told me yours when we were getting really close.”

“They’re… not completely private, not the way faces are, but they are personal.”

Cobb nodded, tucking that little fact away. “And then I thought maybe you hadn’t named him because you knew you were going to have to give him up, and you were trying not to get too attached. But he already had a name? What was it?”

“Grogu,” said Din quietly. 

Cobb couldn’t help feeling disappointed, despite having had no specific expectations. “Huh. He didn’t look like a Grogu,” he said. “Then again I don’t know what a Grogu would look like.” 

“When I called him his name,” Din said, his voice catching, “he would always look up at me and make this little…” He breathed out shakily. “He was the cutest little guy. Made me chuckle like a dummy every time.” There was a moment during which he was so quiet that Cobb could hear the sound of saliva in his mouth as he swallowed hard. “So,” he went on, composing himself, “I’ll start at the beginning, how I met Grogu, and I’ll try to fill you in on everything after that.”

It was a long story. Din wasn’t a storyteller by nature, and he tended just to recite facts linked up by “and then” or “after that.” Cobb listened and asked the odd question and tried to remember everybody’s names. It sounded like Din led an absolutely exhausting life, but he was fascinated to hear more about it — the loneliness, the gradual discoveries, the way Din seemed to initiate all his friendships with an attempted ass-kicking. It took Din about an hour to get up to the point where he’d gone to Mos Pelgo in search of a fellow Mandalorian to help him track down Jedi. The faintest traces of sunlight were beginning to filter around the edges of the heavy curtains, meaning it must be pretty bright outside by now. “And that’s when you walked in,” he said, and Cobb could hear the rueful smile in his voice. “And when you took off that helmet I felt hot and cold all over, which I thought was outrage. And it was, but at least half of the hot and cold was because I saw your face and fell in love.”

“Hey,” said Cobb. He lifted Din’s hand and kissed it. “That’s for saying you fell in love. Was it really right then?”

“That was when it started. I already — when I first saw you in the doorway and I still thought for a second you could be Mandalorian, I was excited. Not just because I’d found someone who might be able to help me, because you looked so  _ good. _ The shape of you and the way you moved. So I was attracted to you straight away, I just wasn’t focused on it. The longer I spent with you and the more I realised I really liked you too, the stronger it got. I’ve... thought about you a lot. How I knew, and when I knew.”

“Well, I knew I was in love with you when I saw you come flying out of an exploding dragon and skid to a stop on your feet like a badass,” Cobb said, and laughed. “I knew I was falling, but that moment, that was when I thought ‘hot damn, he’s got me.’”

“I knew I was in love with you when we were eating breakfast together and I was… so happy. I was ashamed of what I’d done to be with you, and worried about what was going to happen next, but I could not stop feeling happy because you were there, and you wanted me there.”

“I’ll always want you here,” Cobb said quietly. He leaned in and found Din’s lips with his, and felt him respond softly. There was a little old jaded part of him asking how he could know about “always” or even “in love” when he’d spent barely a handful of days with this man, and he kindly thanked that part for its concern and asked it to shut up. If he was wrong he’d just be wrong. He wasn’t going to deny himself any Din-kissing because of that possibility. “Go on with your story, baby.”

“I’ve forgotten where I was up to. No, after we left you…” 

A hell of a lot had happened after they left him. Din’s life generally sounded exhausting but recent events had been an escalation. He got a little hung up on trying to describe the shock he felt on meeting actual Mandalorians who took their helmets off on meeting him. His feelings were a tangle of gratitude, since they had saved his and Grogu’s lives when he was immobilised by panic and near-drowning, revulsion at how carelessly they exposed themselves, and complete bewilderment at learning that the set of beliefs and rules that he had always held as defining Mandalorians, that gave him his sense of purpose and identity, that he’d controlled and denied himself to honour, were actually regarded as extreme and excessive by the majority. 

“Finding out that you are not normal is just… see, I’m used to everyone  _ else _ thinking I’m not normal. That’s okay, when I know I’m doing the right thing. But to  _ other Mandalorians _ , I’m not normal. I couldn’t take it in.”

“Heck of a way to find out you grew up in a cult,” said Cobb. 

“It’s not a cult,” said Din defensively. “The Watch are good people.”

“Okay, wrong word. But hell yes, I see why that shook you up. Did it make you want to…” He touched Din’s bare head, brushing his fingers over his messy hair. 

“No, it made me surer than ever that I had to keep it on, I had to hold onto what made  _ me _ Mandalorian. I was… regretting what I’d done with you. I still loved you but I was sure I’d done wrong and I was ashamed of myself.”

“You didn’t break the rules, darlin’. That was the whole point of the blindfold. It’s why I’m wearing it now.”

“I broke the spirit of the rules. I  _ looked _ for a way to get around them. You don’t understand.”

“I do understand why you’d come down harder on yourself. Especially if you were feeling scared that you weren’t normal. I mean, I should tell you.” He’d been planning to bring this up much later on; he was sure it would interest Din but he’d also thought it seemed likely to scandalise him, but thanks to this Bo-Katan he’d arrived pre-scandalised.

“Tell me what?”

“After you left, I got the surprise of my life when another Mando showed up a couple weeks later. Nothing to do with you, just a coincidence. She was searching for someone.”

“A bounty?”

“No, a missing friend. And I’ll tell you, she couldn’t have been more different from you. Her armour was all tricked out in glossy purple and orange enamel, and when she took off her helmet to say hello — because naturally I went out to see what was what, with my heart in my mouth because what the hell could I do against a Mando if she was looking for trouble — she had hair dyed like a sunset. Quite a pretty sight, but it threw me for a loop. And she introduced herself right up front, said her name was Sabine Wren and she was looking for a man called Ezra Bridger. I know it’s a long shot, but do you know any Ezra Bridger?”

“I’ve never heard the name. I’ve never heard of Sabine Wren either.” Din sounded tense and uncomfortable, and no wonder. 

“I could tell her right off we had no Bridgers in town, I know every family. I offered to check town records to see if he might’ve passed through, maybe worked in the mine for a short time, but we didn’t find anything there. She was kind of annoyed to hit a dead end but kind of resigned, like she’d been on his trail a long time and this had happened before. Of course I invited her to stay for a meal.”

“Why?” Din asked. 

“Well, she’d been travelling a long time, it was just hospitable. And I wanted to talk to her, try to understand why she was so different from you.”

“Did you  _ tell _ her about me?” Din asked. “About the blindfold?”

“Of course not, darlin’, that’s private between us. I just said that I’d met another Mandalorian and he had very different habits and I wondered what that was about. She told me pretty much what this Bo-Katan told you, that you sounded like you were part of this hardcore splinter group with a really strict creed. She actually tried to warn me that you could be dangerous, an extremist. I said I well believed you could be dangerous but I didn’t think you were any danger to me. We had a good, long talk. I think you would like her, you know, she was a tough cookie. Fought for the Rebellion as well as for Mandalore.” Cobb was trying to figure out why Din still seemed so prickly about it. He could feel the tension in his body wherever they were touching. This was more than the reaction he’d expected, and none of his reassurances seemed to be working. “Like your friend Cara.”

“So I suppose she wanted to tell you all about how wrong I was,” Din said.

“No, she did not. She told me that there are certain core beliefs that hold all Mandalorians together, but there’s no end to the ways you can fight amongst yourselves about which ones are the most important and who’s doing them right. She said about the only thing you could hope to get every Mandalorian to agree on was that jetpacks are cool, and everything else would turn into anything from a debate to a civil war. Her perspective’s a little different because she spent a few years running away from being a Mandalorian before she eventually went back to her family. The way she sees it, you can pick and choose based on what you believe in your heart is right. You can make the Way your own, the way you make your armour your own, and she started explaining to me about how she’d customised hers, starting from the pieces she’d inherited.”

“You don’t make your armour your own,” said Din, “the Armourer designs it for you — oh.”

“Yeah, I think that’s another of those differences.”

“It’s good armour. Pure beskar doesn’t need fancy enamel.”

“It is  _ beautiful _ armour,” Cobb assured him. “Strong, beautiful and perfect just the way it is. I’m not sayin’ any of this to suggest you should change. I only want you to know, you know, there are people who think you can change if  _ you _ want to, and it doesn’t make you any less Mando. I wouldn’t ask you to change a thing.” Din was  _ still _ feeling and sounding agitated; his breathing was faster. “Baby, I know this is one of the things I don’t understand, because I haven’t grown up inside it like you have, and I can only guess from the way you’re acting that the stuff I’m talking about sounds way worse to you than it does to me. I’m trying to understand, but if I shouldn’t have asked her those questions, if I was snooping, I’m sorry. I missed you so much, I jumped at the chance to find out anything that had to do with you.”

“It’s okay,” said Din tersely. “I’m not upset with you. This is raking up a lot of things that are complicated for me. I’m not going to be calm and happy when we talk about it but that doesn’t mean it’s about you.”

“Okay.”

“Can I just tell you the story?”

“Of course you can.” 

Din rolled onto his back. “I’ve lost my place again,” he muttered. 

“Well, you think about it, and I’m going to take a leak and make some coffee. Want me to bring you a cup?”

“Thank you.”

“So… I’m gonna need my eyes, specially when I’m carrying hot drinks. How about you just duck under the covers?” They’d fallen asleep on top of the quilt the night before, but it might make Din more comfortable to be wrapped up a little. Maybe he had it backwards when he thought of undressing Din as making him more comfortable; maybe from his point of view being out of armour was something he needed to  _ tolerate _ to be able to get held and comforted. It was just that last night he had clearly wanted that contact and comfort so much, he had gone directly for it without needing to be encouraged at all.

“No need,” said Din. To Cobb’s slight dismay, he sat up and felt around at the foot of the bed until he found his helmet; he knew he’d put it back on because of the change in the sound of his voice when he said, “You can take the blindfold off now.”

Cobb felt like he’d pissed Din off without knowing how, no matter what he said, and he was withdrawing from him. “You put it on me,” he said. “I’d kind of like you to take it off.”

“All right,” said Din. He reached over to Cobb and slid the blindfold up and back over his forehead; it was a simple, practical movement rather than the kind of caress Cobb had admittedly been fantasising about an awful lot. He tried not to be too disappointed about that. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed and went into the bathroom. Coffee would probably help matters. 

The wind was picking up while he made it, and when he looked out the window he could see dust devils. It didn’t look serious yet but would be worth keeping an eye on as the day developed. Sandstorms were a fact of life in this region and it didn’t make sense to be jumpy about them, but the more prepared the town could be to batten down, the better. He should probably make the rounds later and check in on folks, but for the first time he felt a reluctance that was about more than just being tired or maybe a little hung over.  _ Can you excuse me from your lives today, neighbours? I have a sad bounty hunter in my bed. _

When he went back carrying the mugs he found that Din had opened the curtains. The bedroom window was a horizontal half-moon that gave onto the empty dunes at the back of the house, so it remained pretty private whether you had the curtains opened or closed. Din still had his helmet on but hadn’t put any other outer clothing or armour on, so he looked a little odd sitting cross-legged on the bed but overall Cobb found that encouraging. He hadn’t covered himself up more. Cobb held out a mug to him and at the same time he held out the scarf that Cobb had left lying on the bed. 

“Oh,” said Cobb, surprised. “You want to switch back?”

“Seems easier, unless you can’t drink your coffee that way,” said Din. 

“Oh no, I like this better. I’d rather hear your real voice.” He put the mugs on his bedside table, sat down and let Din blindfold him again.

“Will you…” Din leaned forward until the brow of his helmet touched Cobb’s forehead.

“I can take it off again?”

“It feels safe like that.”

Cobb bit his lip; what a thing to say. He wondered if Din had any idea how a few words like that affected him. He kissed the brow of the helmet, lifted it off and laid it aside. Din laid his forehead against Cobb’s again, breathing in deeply, and stroked the back of his neck. 

“You miss me while I was out of the room or something?” Cobb asked, smiling.

“I realised I already feel a little better because I can tell someone the whole story. I never really wanted to tell someone everything before I knew you. I’m grateful.”

“Well, drink your coffee and keep going.” Carefully, he found the mugs by touch, held one out and felt Din take it, then heard him sip, once cautiously to test the temperature, then again with more certainty. “Did I remember right? You like yours black?”

“I mainly like it hot. I’m not picky. You make good coffee, though.”

“Reminds me of my dad’s old joke, my favourite kind of beer is free, my second favourite is cold.”

Din gave a small but appreciative snort of laughter. 

“Man, you’re the first person to laugh at that old thing in a long time.”

“I never heard it before.”

“First time for everything.” 

“Where was I up to?”

“You met Bo-Katan and found out you’re not the average Mandalorian.”

“Thanks.” 

The story went on, with more names and places that Cobb tried to keep straight, hopping around exotic locations he could only imagine based on pictures he’d seen, oceans, ice caves, forests. He was probably most interested to hear about what Din had been able to learn from the mysterious Ahsoka about Grogu, and his heart went out to him; he was so proud of his baby boy and it seemed that just as he was growing to love him most the shadow of losing him grew longer and darker. 

“What in blue blazes does she mean about attachment and emotion?” Cobb asked, baffled. “How can that be bad? Folks loving each other is what makes life worthwhile.”

“I don’t know,” said Din. “She didn’t really explain. I got the impression she’d had a bad experience with someone close to her.”

“Well, sure, haven’t we all? But just because she got her heart broken or something doesn’t mean a child loving his daddy is dangerous. How else is a kid going to grow up  _ right?” _

“I don’t know,” Din repeated. “This is a Jedi thing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few weeks it’s that I don’t understand squat about the Jedi. I started out thinking they were a species or a race, now it seems like they’re more of a… a secret society or something.”

“Like the Watch?” Cobb asked. 

“Not like the Watch. The Watch adopts foundlings, children who have been orphaned or abandoned. No one gives their children up to them. I remember, growing up, there were one or two kids who turned out to have family still living, and the Watch saw to it they were reunited. For a while I hoped that would happen to me, but I accepted that it wouldn’t and I was lucky to have the home that I did.”

“So… you changed your mind about giving him to the Jedi?”

“No. Not an option. I was quested to do that and he really does need to be with them. This is the reuniting part that  _ I _ have to do. It just… it hurts. Just keep listening.”

There was a moment of payoff for Cobb personally, a joining up of loose ends.

_ “That’s _ the guy whose armour I was wearing?”

“That’s the guy. Boba Fett.”

“Boba Fett. I feel like I should write him a thank-you note or something. Plus an apology. Would that help or wouldn’t it mean anything compared with getting the armour back?”

“The main thing is, he’s got it back. You might like to know he repainted it. Not purple and orange,” Din said, with a slight twist in his voice that suggested he considered purple and orange tacky. “Green and red. It was his father’s before him. And his father was a foundling, like me.”

“So you feel kind of a connection to him?” Cobb asked. “Like he could be your friend?” He both would  _ like _ Din to have a close Mando friend and felt a tiny bit jealous of the possibility. 

“I guess so. He’s reserved. But he was kind to me. He interpreted a promise the most generous way he could, and there was nothing I could see in it for him. I need to tell you about that too, I’m getting things out of order now.”

“Hey, one question before you do,” Cobb said, putting aside his empty mug.

“Yes?”

“When he was missing his armour, he couldn’t keep his face covered by a helmet. Did he still cover it some other way? Like a mask or something?”

“No. He doesn’t follow the Creed like that.”

“So it’s not all foundlings that do?”

“He’s not a foundling, his father was and I don’t know what he did. Can I get on with this? The next part was bad.”

It really was. Cobb felt for Grogu being kidnapped in such a terrifying way, he felt for Din being helpless to protect him, the loss of their ship seemed like insult on top of injury — and as the story moved on to the next stage, he realised that he was still having problems with jealousy, not necessarily romantic or sexual jealousy, just an unhappy gnawing feeling about the fact that he wouldn’t have been any use to Din in that crisis, that Din hadn’t even considered calling on him for aid. Naturally he turned to other friends like Cara Dune. Naturally people like Boba Fett and Fennec Shand could be more help to him. Without the armour Cobb was just some guy from Nowhere, Tatooine, a self-appointed marshal with no legal authority, no useful contacts, no access to information. Even someone Din clearly didn’t like, this Migs Mayfeld jerk, was more of a help to him. And then he got hit with a very specific kind of jealousy that he knew was totally unreasonable, that Mayfeld had got to see Din’s face before he did. He tried, but he couldn’t keep his reaction entirely off his own face; even half covered, it must have shown. 

Din saw it, and stopped. “You know,” he said, “that this and that are two different things, right? There is a world of difference between  _ having _ to take it off in an emergency and  _ choosing _ to take it off because I want to — to be close to you and let you come closer to me.”

“I know that, of course I know it. Don’t mind me, I’m being a jackass.”

“That time my heart was racing the entire time, I had a cold sweat all down my back and under my arms, and I felt like I might throw up. With you I’ve only had the racing heart, and that’s different too.”

“Listen to you sweet-talking me.”

“I wouldn’t know how. I’m just saying how it was. You know, Mayfeld even asked me a question that you asked, about whether I had to wear my helmet, or whether it was the face covering part that was important. Except when you asked me, you were trying to understand me better — he was just trying to score a point, find an inconsistency.”

“Well, I was trying to understand, but I was also angling to be able to kiss you,” Cobb pointed out. “I mean, I was getting desperate to kiss you at that point. I knew if I didn’t find a way you could accept then if I tried you’d just bolt and I’d’ve ruined any chance I had, so I don’t know if I deserve that much credit.”

“I’m not complaining about that,” said Din. “Mayfeld turned out to be a better man than I was expecting, but he’s in a completely different category than you. And I think it’s safe to say he has never wanted to kiss me. Before or after seeing my face.”

“Well, then he just has no taste and I pity him. Go on.” 

The story entered its final stage, and it was clear that Din was finding it more and more distressing to tell. When he eventually got to the part where he said goodbye to Grogu and watched him go, his voice failed altogether and he sat hunched over with the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes, taking deep, hitching breaths. Cobb scooted up to sit close beside him, wrapped his arm around him, tried to somehow absorb a bit of the heartache he was feeling. He would never tell Din he’d been wrong to let a stranger take his son away, that would be like punching him in an open wound, but the whole thing felt gut-level wrong to him. Why couldn’t Din have gone with them, to keep taking care of Grogu at least for a while, so the change of care wouldn’t be a shock? Did Jedi training have to be secret? What were they up to, anyway? And wait, had Din just let the Jedi take Grogu without even finding out his name, let alone where he was taking him?

“I’m so sorry, baby, so sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s for the best,” Din said in a small, strangled voice. “He wanted to go. He needed — I just —” More harsh breathing, struggling.

“That Jedi better realise what a special thing he’s found,” Cobb said. “Din? There’s no Creed rule that says you can’t cry, is there?”

“No,” said Din, “except I feel like if I do I’ll never stop.” He lifted his head and inhaled deeply and sharply through his nose, briskly wiped his wet eyes with his knuckles. “All I wanted after that was to come home to you,” he said, and then broke and sobbed. Cobb pulled him into his arms and felt hot tears soaking into the shoulder of his shirt. It was making him tear up to feel how miserable Din was. They clung together for long minutes and he rubbed Din’s back and made meaningless soft shushing noises until the tears finally ran dry. 

“Thank you,” Din said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I got snot on your shirt.”

“I don’t care. I mean, you know we say on Tatooine, if you’re gonna cry, come stand over the vaporator and make it useful, but you’re not from round here so I make allowances.” He turned his head and kissed Din’s cheek. 

Din took a long breath and let it out, straightening up and sitting back a little. Stroking his face, Cobb could feel a kind of wan smile. “I’ll try that next time,” he said. 

“Thank you for telling me your story. It’s an honour to be trusted like that. And to hear you say you wanted to come home to me. But… what happened about that dark saber thing? Didn’t you say Bo-Katan wanted to fight you for it? Did you have to do that first?”

“Ah.” Din shook his head. “Neither of us  _ wants _ to fight for it. I didn’t even know I was winning it. I just wanted to disarm the asshole that took my kid. But apparently it’s this huge Mandalorian cultural icon that I know nothing about, and she won’t let me just give it to her. I’ve still got it.”

“You fought her and won?”

“Not yet. She got hurt in the firefight and I told her I wouldn’t duel her injured, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. She said  _ she _ was fine, but it wouldn’t be fair to duel me when I had a broken heart. I wasn’t sure if she was mocking me or trying to be kind. I think being kind. She’s going to take care of some business and… get back to me. Boba and Fennec were coming back to Tatooine anyway, and I asked them to drop me off. That’s all.”

“Just a second now. Are we talking a duel to the death, or just a straight-up fight that she can win without messing you up too bad?”

“The second one.”

_ “Oh, _ okay. I can handle that, if I thought you were just on a stay of execution before she comes to try and kill you I’d be on pins and needles.”

“You think I wouldn’t win?” Din asked, sounding a little peeved. 

“I’d put money on you any day. But if you won you’d feel horrible about killing someone you had no quarrel with, wouldn’t you? Someone you actually owe a big debt of gratitude for helping you save your kid. If you just kick her ass, well, she can recover and try again. And again as many times as it takes until you screw up or she gets lucky. Because I’d also put money on the fact you won’t go easy on her or  _ let  _ the lady win for anything.”

“That would be like spitting in her face,” said Din. “It would totally undermine her authority as a leader. And I’m through looking for loopholes.”

“Hey, call me slow on the uptake, but does you having the Darksaber currently mean you’re de facto King Mando?” Cobb asked.

“No,” said Din firmly. “I mind my own business and I’m not setting myself up as leader of anything. I’ll be glad to get rid of it.”

“Does it mean you’re going to get rando Mandos showing up wanting to duel you? Like gunslingers? Because if so you take that shit out of town, and don’t do it anywhere near the Tusken camp.”

“I hope not,” said Din. “So far I think only Bo-Katan and her crew know, and they’d have no reason to tell — she doesn’t want even more competition for the thing.”

“One less thing to worry about,” said Cobb.

“All I want is just… some quiet. To be alone with you. To find out what it’s like to be at home. Not to think about anything else.”

“Well, I can give you that,” Cobb said. “Nothing would make me happier.” He drew him in for another kiss. Din met him more eagerly than he’d expected, lips parting as he pressed close. The kisses quickly grew heavier and deeper, and Cobb wrapped his arms around him tight before falling back, pulling Din down on top of him. Din got astride his body and kissed him passionately, pressing down on him full length. He could feel a throb of anxious energy in him as well as desire, but he could sympathise so much with the urge to fuck to forget. 

“Wait,” Din breathed against his lips. 

“Wait?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’ve talked to me for hours. You can have a break.”

“Okay.” He sounded relieved.

Din gave a sweet little moan as Cobb dipped in to kiss him again, and seemed well on the way to not thinking of anything else at all. He seemed to tend to be a bit passive unless you reminded him what he could do, but Cobb was betting that was mostly inexperience making him hesitant. Men who thrust like Din did once he was deep into him weren’t actually passive. It just took a little encouragement now to get Din to show some initiative, to believe that the ways he wanted to kiss, stroke and rub would be enjoyed, and there was nothing all that complicated about it that everyone must know except him. As he got past that little doubt, his enthusiasm grew, the sounds of his breathing and his voice, the movements of his hands and his hips, all quickening and strengthening in the most lovable way. They struggled out of their clothes together and kicked down the covers, and Din went exploring, kissing Cobb’s neck and chest, breathlessly asking him, “Like this? Here?” while he nudged him around with his hands on his shoulders. 

“Just like this. I’ve wanted you so much. You know you’ve been fucking me in my dreams?” 

“I dreamed about you too. Teach me what to do for you.”

_ Oh, I wish I could see him looking up at me when he says that.  _ He pushed his fingers through Din’s hair and breathed, “Make my dreams come true.”

“Get inside you?”

“Just like before, but you’re gonna be on top, and you’re gonna kiss me.” He wanted to keep it simple because Din was just this side of a virgin and because he hoped there would be lots more chances to teach him everything else he liked and because above all he wanted the deep satisfaction of being full of him and locked together. 

“Where’s the, uh…”

“Lube’s always under the pillow. Gonna have to get more soon. Gonna be burning through it with you. Oof… haven’t got into this position in a while.”

“Is it okay?”

“It’s great. Give me your fingers first… rub it in… oh…” His mouth dropped open in a soft gasp that melted into a delighted moan. “That’s it, that’s perfect. Oh, work it round and round…  _ in… _ ah Din…” He bit his lip, working his butt against Din’s hand. “Keep going, give me more…” Din was kissing him feverishly, clumsily, all over his mouth and his chin, panting hot breath in between.  _ He feels like a fuckin’ teenager. How old  _ is _ he? I love him. Oh, I wish I could see his sweet face.  _ His fingers were stroking smoothly in and out, such good hands,  _ good _ instincts. “Get your cock nice and slick too, let me help you with that… feel good? Come on in.” The deep inward push drove a grunt out of him, and he wrapped his arms around Din’s back. “Thank the Force you came back to me,” he breathed. “Once was  _ not _ enough. Roll into me. Yes! Oh, you feel so good inside me, you’re where you belong.” Din’s mouth was warm and wet on his, his cock was pumping firmly in his ass, his whole body was moving in a deep, steady, loving rhythm, strong enough to move him up the bed.

“Is this right?”

“Yes, oh,  _ fuck _ yes. You’re gonna make me come so hard.”

“Me too,” Din mumbled, gripping his hips tight. 

“Not yet, I know you’ve got the stamina.”

“Want you to come…”

“Keep going!” He gave Din a little slap on the ass and felt his body jolt and laughed. Then he was wondering why he hadn’t grabbed Din’s ass before now and took a double handful as Din urgently hitched his hips up towards him and began rutting down into him hard, driving him on, stroke after stroke, to a shuddery climax and a joyful groan. He was a little surprised how much more stamina Din had in him after that; this time around he was an animal. At last his hips snapped forward and ground in deep and he was trembling as he gushed inside him. Din’s body went limp and he became a hot, sweating blanket. Cobb stroked his back and murmured a little praise, and Din lifted his head to kiss him again. 

“Can’t stop smiling,” Cobb sighed. “Just made me feel brand new.”

“I loved.... everything, I…” Cobb felt something strange; it felt as if Din pulled at the blindfold, beginning to pull it up, before letting go again.  _ Did he just want to… better not push, but if he gives me another hint like that I’m asking.  _

“I need to just let my legs down. Oh… darlin’, if you want to go right to sleep where you are I don’t blame you, but ease off me first.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Din was kissing him again, softly and sweetly, before lifting up and rolling off to lie beside him. Cobb rolled towards him again, slung one leg over his and pulled him back into a hug. 

“I didn’t say let me go,” he said. 

“Didn’t want to.” 

They lay still together among sweat-damp, tangled sheets, breathing deeply, heartbeats gradually winding down. As the little stars cleared out of Cobb’s head he murmured, “You know, I guess I can believe the Force exists, I mean, as energy, but I don’t think I really wanna thank it for you. It’s just something you say, isn’t it? I don’t think it cares about people. It’s just… there. Or why would so much of the stuff that happens happen?”

“Huh?” Din asked. 

“Sorry. Mind wandering. I feel so good.” He traced the curve of Din’s cheek with his fingers, trying again to picture his face. 

“You know what the problem is with the blindfold?” Din asked.

“What?”

“Neither of us can see each other.” He touched his forehead to Cobb’s again. That was beginning to feel like a definite thing, he just wasn’t sure if it was a Mando thing or a Din thing specifically, but it was nice. “I know what your eyes are like, but when they’re hidden...”

“I’ve been told I do have nice eyes.” He stroked Din’s hair, clinging damp to his forehead and temples. “Tell me… what do you want?”

“This is what I thought I should have talked to you about,” Din sighed. He was quiet for a moment. “I’m a hypocrite.”

“Why?”

“Because I still made you wear the blindfold when I want to show you my face.”

“Must’ve been some reason for that.”

Din exhaled slowly. “You could have just asked me. Like ‘Why do I still have to wear this when Mayfeld and everyone has seen it?’”

“I didn’t ask because I figured it was still important to you.”

“But…”

“You showed your face once for an emergency and once because you were going to say goodbye to your baby boy, that doesn’t mean you’re just a casual helmet-off guy now.” He hoped it was okay to mention the kid at this point; Din was at least alluding to that time. “If you feel better or safer with the blindfold on, I’ll wear it, no complaints. It is such a tiny price to pay to be with you. If you want to take it off me, you can. I’m leaving it up to you.”

“I need the head,” Din said abruptly and pulled away, confusing him for a moment before he realised he normally lived on a ship and meant toilet. Someone was feeling nervous. Well, he’d just wait. He could hear Din getting out of bed and crossing the room. He pulled up the covers more comfortably and lay listening to the wind outside; nothing alarming, just a little whistly. He was getting nervous too, though it was more of a pleasant anticipatory feeling than real jitters. Either soon he was going to see Din’s face, or, well, he wasn’t and would have to be patient at least a while longer. It was really starting to feel like seeing his face was an eventual development of the relationship, though, not just a permanent ironic twist of “you get to have the hottest boyfriend but you never actually get to look upon his hotness,” and he’d been prepared to accept that might just be the way it worked if you fell in love with a really hardcore Mando. He’d have made it work. He tried to savour the anticipation, but it was turning jittery as he reflected that once the uncertainty of Din’s face was over and he  _ knew _ it would be a  _ fact _ and  _ real  _ and what came after that… he didn’t think he could possibly fall out of love with Din if he was homely but the wishing and hoping and not knowing part would be over.

The bathroom door opened and Din was padding back to bed; it occurred to him to be a little amused that Din was the type who would gladly stick his cock right up your ass but then afterward shut the bathroom door so you didn’t hear him peeing. That wouldn’t last. 

Din lay down beside him and he turned to face him. “Well?”

“I think…” said Din, and stopped. “I’m trying to figure out if I should just take off your blindfold or put my helmet back on first and then ask you to take it off me.”

“There’s no rule for this, is there?”

“No rule for how to do the thing the number one rule is not to do,” Din agreed. 

_ Well, if you were getting married to a nice Mando boy or girl what would they tell you to do on your wedding night? No, won’t say that, it’d really offend him. The whole problem is I’m not a nice Mando boy, and I guess they don’t let you convert at my age.  _ “So,” Cobb said, “I think you just get to do whatever you choose.”

“I think it’s so hard because I’m freely choosing to do it,” said Din. “There’s no computer that’s going to set off an alarm if I don’t let it scan my face. No one who’s going to be gone in a moment if I don’t make up my mind. I’m just lying here and you’re lying there waiting for me.”

“How about this rule?” Cobb asked. “It’s our rule.” He touched his forehead to Din’s and stroked the back of his neck. “Take it off, or I will.” He heard and felt a sharp little intake of breath. 

“Okay,” Din said quietly. “When you put it that way. Close your eyes, okay?”

“Okay.” He shut them tight and waited. This time was the gentle, caressing removal he’d imagined, both Din’s hands stroking his cheeks before moving up to slide the blindfold up and back, over his forehead, letting it fall behind his head.  _ Nothing between us now but eyelids.  _ His heart gave a little kick. He felt Din’s forehead against his one more time, then his lips on his, softly, breath trembling against his skin. Then he drew back. 

“I want you to see me,” Din said, and Cobb heard the trace of a smile in his voice. “So peek.”

So he opened his eyes, and he saw the man he loved. He felt a huge wash of relief and warmth. All the possible handsome faces he’d mentally constructed scattered away like sand in the wind and the one he was left with was just right. Right, not perfect, because Din’s hair was messy, his chin was scruffy, his eyelids were a little puffy, and the look in his dark brown eyes was tender and trusting but anxious and deeply vulnerable, as if he whispered “Please still like me.” Cobb was briefly lost for words; he could only feel his delight and his love, and surely those were showing on his own face. Just a trace of a shy smile was appearing on Din’s lips in response. Cobb reached out and stroked his cheek, recognising the texture of his skin, matching what he saw to what he’d already felt.

“There’s a face I could get used to,” he said softly. 

Din was really smiling now, and oh heavens that was a cute smile, but there were also tears shining in his eyes. Cobb leaned in and kissed him, lightly but for a long time. “Thank you for showing me your sweet face,” he breathed against his lips. “I couldn’t be happier.” Din wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Is it what you hoped for?” Cobb asked.

“Yeah,” said Din quietly, his chin on Cobb’s shoulder. “Seeing you see me is… yeah.”

“Then put your face back where I can see it.”

Din obeyed; one tear had broken loose and run down the cheek on the pillow side of his face, but there were no more and his face was shining with quiet happiness.

“And I can finally look at everything else,” Cobb pointed out, casting his gaze down over Din’s body. “That’s my man. All of him.”

“It’s not fair that I got to see you all this time and you didn’t,” Din said. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, you did really rip me off that way, I’m gonna stare to make up for it. Roll over, I want to see your ass. Okay, yes, good ass. Roll back. You know, I spent so long trying to picture how you might look, and I don’t like anything I imagined half as much as what I got.” They just lay there and beamed at each other like lovestruck dummies. “Does this mean,” he asked after a while, “that you’ll want to be like this with me all the time? When we’re alone, when it’s private? Or is this just for special occasions?”

Din nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Alone, in private, I think so. I need to explain. I haven’t stopped believing. To everyone who raised me, this,” he gestured vaguely at his face, “is a disgrace. They’d feel I’ve given up on everything they taught me to keep sacred. I hate knowing I’m letting them down… but at the same time… I can’t work out how to say it. I don’t think they’re wrong but I think what is right for me is different. I still think that choosing to wear the helmet throughout your life and accept the sacrifice of close physical connection to others is a noble thing to do. It’s the purest form of the Way. It’s like beskar. But… maybe my heart isn’t pure beskar. Maybe it’s more of a… a serviceable alloy.” 

“You’ve been doing a lot of hard thinking,” said Cobb. He thought Din and Sabine might have more to talk about than Din thought, if he could get past his objection to purple and orange armour and sunset hair. He wasn’t too sure if it was just an aesthetic objection (which would be pretty funny) or it ran deeper. She had left him her comms details to get in touch if he ever did encounter her Ezra, so it wouldn’t be impossible to get the two of them together sometime. Still, it would be pushing his luck to suggest it to Din right now. “I respect you for it. You’re not afraid to ask yourself if what you’ve always believed is still right. I needed you to get me to think about that.”

“And I respect you for it. Because you did think. You could have kept your head up your ass and lived the rest of your life dodging that dragon rather than consider the Tuskens weren’t monsters but people you could work with. Believe me, I’ve known enough people who would make that choice.” There was his little smile again, creasing the corners of his eyes adorably. 

“You need to know that being able to see your face, when you look at me like you’re proud of me, sends me up to the sky to loop the loop around the moons. I’d do anything for you. If you said Cobb, go walk clear round the world barefoot, and I’ll look at you that way when you get back, I’d be hopping out the door taking my boots off.” He knew he was talking like a corny fool, and he just wanted to go on and on. Din was looking at him, shaking his head, biting his lower lip to keep from grinning, and his eyes were practically sparkling. “If you said Cobb, flap your arms and fly to Mos Eisley and back, I’d say sure, darlin’, can I get you anything from the market while I’m there?”

“If I said Cobb, stop making up impossible things to do and just kiss me, what would you do?”

“Oh, I’d kiss the daylights out of you.”

“Go on, then, or are you all talk?”

He gave it his best effort, and noticed to his amusement that Din didn’t close his eyes when you kissed him; he didn’t stare at you either, his gaze dropped, but he was watching all the time, and Cobb slipped into doing the same because he just could not get enough of the sight of him, any more than he could get enough of his lips and his tongue and the ticklish scratch of his moustache and the warm musky smell of his skin, all growing more and more familiar. There was a kind of joy coming through in him that you usually only saw or felt when you were way too young to appreciate it. 

“And you want to stay?” he asked.

“I want to stay,” Din murmured. 

“Well, all right then,” he said, feeling deeply happy. “I get to look at you every day. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, beautiful brown eyes looking back at me, nothing in between us.”

“No one else has looked at me the way you do,” Din said. “Like you said about me looking at you — like you’re proud of me.”

“Proud of you? Well, I guess I am. I’d love to tell folks, that’s my man, that’s him, the big old badass in beskar, he’s so brave and strong, but did you even know how smart he is? How sweet? And I’m still just getting to know him.” 

“You can tell them I’m your man. I’d be proud to be.”

“You’re sure? I thought you would want to keep it private, since you’re not supposed to…”

“You meant your people here, right? You can tell them, if you think they’d be happy for you.”

“Considering how many of ‘em have told me they’re worried about me being all alone and tried to set me up with someone, I bet they would.”

“Why have you been all alone? That doesn’t make sense. You could have anyone, just look at you.”

“Thank you, baby. I’ve just been waiting for the right man, and here you are.” He tried to explain a little better. “The older I get, the less I want to make the effort for someone I’m not really excited about. You know? I used to fall in love a lot when I was young, but that changed with time too. Little by little, so I almost didn’t notice how long it had been since the last time till folks started saying it’s not right for a man my age to have nobody to go home to. It’s been years since I felt that rush. I’d thought I’d just plain grown out of it and I could be pretty happy by myself without it. Then  _ you  _ came along, and I’m not saying I feel like I’m twenty again, but turns out I still have all the big feelings I had then, and then some, because I care about more than whether someone sweeps me off my feet. Though you did that too. Actually, no, you blasted me off ‘em, that stunt with the jetpack,” he said with a small chuckle.

“I’m not apologising for that,” Din said. 

“I’m not asking you to. You ever do it  _ again,  _ I’ll kick your ass.”

“Good luck,” he said with a small smile. 

“I will literally just… sneak up on you and punt you in the butt.”

“Good luck,” said Din again.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Good. Calm. Wondering if you need something from me.” 

“Well, I’m a patient man, but I was hoping for a little more,” he said with half a smile.

“So teach me more about what to do for you.”

Din had a feeling that what he was doing was not unlike getting blackout drunk or spiced up to shut out pain, but it had to be better too, because at least loving someone was a generous and positive feeling, not just brutish consumption. The liquor or the spice didn’t get anything back from you, but he knew he was making Cobb happy at the same time as escaping from his misery, and he threw himself into it. Between bouts it was all starry-eyed gazing, kissing and hair-stroking, and lazy pillow-talk.

“Hey, I have to ask.”

“Yes?”

“How old are you?”

“I… don’t know when I was born, but I have to be around about forty. Why?”

“I just wondered. Occurred to me earlier that you could be nearly any age, maybe I’d pegged you wrong there too. I’m glad. That’s a good solid age for you to be.”

“What about you?”

“Fifty-two. Little bit older, but the older you both are the less it matters, right?”

“Right.” 

Late in the morning or early in the afternoon (he guessed, he hadn’t tried to find a clock) Cobb fell asleep, looking perfectly contented. Din lay in bed beside him, thinking about faces, seeing them and having yours seen, and wondering if his looked as soft as Cobb’s did while he slept. Bodies, too; he was fascinated by Cobb’s, both because he was the focus of all his desire and because he’d never taken such a long detailed look at another man’s naked body. They were quite differently built; he carried heavier muscle and Cobb was very slim, Cobb had a bit more hair on his chest and belly, Cobb’s skin was lighter and pinker and his face had naturally weathered more with exposure to sun and wind, but he kept thinking  _ I’m like you, you’re like me _ and feeling closer still to him. A significant point of difference was a Hutt brand on Cobb’s back, the scarring shiny, stretched and blurred because it had been put there in childhood. There were other scars, too, of varying age and he wanted to ask about their stories but wondered if they were painful memories, in more than the literal sense of “it hurt when this happened.” He couldn’t say much more than that about any of his own scars, except maybe to explain what he’d been trying to do at the time and how he thought something had got past his armour. 

None of those stories involved any emotional feelings, other than sometimes being annoyed with himself for a simple mistake, or frustrated with someone who just would  _ not _ save them both the trouble and come quietly. On early jobs there had definitely been more feeling, and that had been exhausting and he had been relieved when it had largely gone away, as if the feelings just wore out. He distinctly remembered being somewhat upset about the first time he had to opt to bring ‘em in cold, but maybe that was just because it had been so much more effort and he had twisted his ankle. Had that been it? Maybe he was confusing it with another time. 

And then there had been the one unforgettable time that changed everything, a feeling like a punch straight through armour to the heart. And that was a kind of love at first sight, wasn’t it? Just parental love instead of romantic. He closed his eyes; he hadn’t wanted to think of Grogu again today and had been losing himself in pleasure and comfort very nicely. 

He had been thinking about Cobb, and his skin, and instead of his scars it would be better to think about the places on it he was learning that were sensitive, that he really liked his belly stroked a little before you touched his cock, and the insides of his thighs rubbed while you sucked it. He’d been both nervous and excited to do that, and Cobb coaxed him to begin slowly, the look on his face shading from loving and proud to a fiercer desire, from a gaze to a burning stare, breathing “Oh, look at you,” until his eyes scrunched closed as he came, his chest and face flushing scarlet. The first feeling of the spurt in his mouth had startled Din a bit, but the thought of a part of Cobb becoming part of him as he swallowed did something very strange and deep and nice to him and he knew the next time would be better.

_ Next time will be better _ kept being true. His first time inside Cobb had been thrilling and deeply overstimulating, so he felt like he didn’t know what would happen from moment to moment and might have an embarrassing loss of self-control. The second time was still thrilling but he had been here before and it didn’t overwhelm in the same way; it was only a wonderful feeling with Cobb embracing him and telling him how  _ good _ he felt in there, how much he’d missed him. Third time, fourth time, only improving, even though they were both getting physically tired and after number four he would be impressed if he could raise another erection before evening. He felt emptied out, in a good way. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t also asleep now, but as long as he wasn’t, he gazed at Cobb’s face and felt a great softness in his heart.  _ There’s a face I could get used to.  _ He liked that so much better than if Cobb had said something fancy about being handsome or beautiful that would sound phony to him. He was still fairly sure he had a very ordinary face, but it was a face Cobb could love and want to  _ get used to, _ to see as a normal part of his life and his home.

And Cobb’s home was precious and important to him, that was another thing they’d talked about, lying here with sweat drying gently on their skin.

“This is gonna be  _ our _ room,” Cobb had said, squeezing his hand against his own chest, “I just realised that. This is the first house where I said, this is my place, I can have nice things. I’m making it mine. No one’s ever going to own me again, no one can uproot me, tell me where to live, it’s worth my while to get attached to the place. I’m glad I did. Means I have a better place to share with you now.”

“I know what you mean,” said Din, surprised, because he had never thought much of it and Cobb had reached the opposite conclusion to him. “You know that other people try to make a place look nice, they want to have all their… little things around them. But nothing lasts, and why waste your energy?”

“I don’t feel like I wasted anything. I mean, no one would ever call my place fancy or high-class. It’s just plain and comfortable. I made this quilt for the bed so I know it’s always gonna be mine. No bandit or slaver or giant burrowing dragon can drive me from this place that I decided is home, so here’s my room that I made just the way I like it. And you can make it yours too. Keep your gear in here, there’s room in that corner. If there’s anything you find you like, you want to keep it around, just bring it in. You’re home now for as long as you want to stay. And you’re the nicest nice thing I’ve found.”

That had made him deeply happy, but happiness faded when it wasn’t constantly renewed, and now as he lay here watching Cobb sleep loneliness and grief were creeping back in. He didn’t have anything he could add to this room. Other than his weapons and the clothes on his back when he’d arrived, all he had was the metal knob off the top of a control lever on a destroyed ship. It was in a zipped-up pocket of his flight suit to keep it safe. He should have given it to Grogu to take with him, it was his favourite toy, but without it he had nothing that Grogu had held or worn or played with. The little hammock he had slept in and his blanket were ashes. The bucket he’d bathe him in, the special mild soap he’d got because his own seemed to make the kid’s skin itchy, the small toothbrush that had fit in beside his in its clip. Nothing left to show a child had been part of his life. 

Well, he’d probably have better toys now, magic Jedi toys, or else be so busy learning he wouldn’t have time to play. He would have a far better life than Din could ever offer him, in a dingy, cold ship, being dunked in a damn bucket, wandering from world to world, dodging attempts on his life and witnessing all kinds of violence, larceny and general bullshit. He’d actually have an appropriate role model, presumably. The Jedi in the black cloak had seemed very… serene. Actually, he had made Din feel profoundly uncomfortable, but there was no way to separate that impression from how torn-up he had been feeling about losing Grogu; he couldn’t say what he might have thought of him if he’d met him in other circumstances. He looked awfully young — what would he be, in his twenties? early thirties at most? — but he also seemed already old, no spark in his eyes, no warmth, just flat calm. Ahsoka had been different, there had been a bit of life to her although, judging by the size of her horns and head tails, she was considerably older than Grogu’s Jedi. Still, Ahsoka hadn’t been willing to take him on, and that guy was. 

“That guy.” He was probably going to curse himself for the rest of his life for not asking for a name. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought of it until Boba had made their rendezvous, listened to the whole story from Fennec on the ride back to Tatooine, made a disgusted noise inside his helmet and said it was most likely one of their mind tricks. Jedi, he said, could cloud people’s minds and stop them thinking of things they normally would or misdirect them, give them ideas or memories that weren’t true and that would seem real at least for a while. 

“Did he actually say anything like ‘You don’t need to know my name?’” he’d asked. 

“No, but would we remember that if he was doing a mind trick?” Fennec asked in return. 

“Maybe not. They’re tricky buggers.”

He’d heard them talking without feeling able to engage, sitting behind them slouched down in his chair and hugging himself as if he were trying to sleep. Maybe a mind trick accounted for how dazed he had been. He hadn’t even thought to put his helmet back on until Cara approached him, touched his arm and put it into his hands. She had deliberately been looking away from him and he didn’t know what she might have seen. He both appreciated her trying to be discreet about it and felt that nothing mattered any more, but he realised he must have dropped the helmet on the floor at his feet, took it from her and put it on, because at least that felt normal. 

Boba had swung his chair around to look at him. “You all right back there, brother?” he asked. 

After a couple of tries Din had found the voice to say “Fine.”

Boba sighed. “Wish I’d realised a Jedi was just going to show up. I’d been expecting I’d get a chance to talk to you about them after you got your kid back. Didn’t seem like any point in bringing it up while all you could think about was saving him from Gideon.”

That had stirred him out of his lethargy. “What do you mean? What do you know about the Jedi?”

There had been an uncomfortable pause. “What I know about the Jedi,” Boba said eventually, “I know about the  _ old _ Jedi. I know they were arrogant, complacent bastards who got wiped off the face of the galaxy because they couldn’t smell the rot right under their noses. No one was gladder than me to hear they went down. A Jedi killed my dad when I was a little boy. Beheaded him. I saw it. When I was a little bit older, Jedi put me in jail. I was still a kid, got into a bit of strife because I was hurt and angry and had no one sensible looking out for me, and they locked me up with grown men. Now luckily I was already pretty tough and I knew how to make deals, but that was not a safe or healthy place for a young boy. They didn’t care. They’d made their minds up about me and they never changed their minds. They knew what was right and wrong and they were always right. You know the type?”

Din couldn’t speak. His mouth was going dry with horror. He understood what Boba had said about there being no point in telling him this before finding Grogu, he couldn’t have taken it in, but hearing about it only now was a punch in the gut.

“But,” Boba went on, “like I said, the Jedi were wiped off the face of the galaxy. Anyone left who calls themselves a Jedi is a rare survivor, who you’d hope had a little of the stupid pride knocked out of them, or one of the young ones trying to rebuild an order they hardly remember. You said he was a young fella, didn’t you, Fen?” She nodded. “Then he was never part of the establishment that no one could question and never questioned itself. He might actually be a decent person.” He shrugged. “You have to hope, eh?” 

“He said he would give his life to protect the child,” said Fennec. “And I don’t know if he was casting some kind of spell on all of us like Boba says, but he sounded to me like he meant it. If they’re so rare these days and the Imperial threat isn’t fully gone, not giving his name may just have been excessive caution. I don’t think you were wrong to trust him. For what it’s worth.” 

“But if you ever see him again, yeah, don’t give him time to talk, grab him by the balls and don’t let go till he gives you a name and an address,” Boba concluded. “You’ve got rights as a parent.” He sat watching Din for a while longer. “Where do you want to be dropped on Tatooine?”

“I… I know someone in Mos Pelgo. We agreed to meet when all this was over. Mos Pelgo.”

“Mos Pelgo. Where you so kindly got my armour back off that scarecrow marshal? Every time I tried to get near him that bloody dragon would show up. I don’t take chances with things like that any more.”

“That’s him,” Din agreed. 

“He going to look after you?”

“Yes.”

“He owes you.”

“No. He’s just my friend.” 

“He’s still lucky you got to him before I did.” Boba’s fingers drummed on his knee for a moment. “I think you should rest up with your mate in Mos Pelgo. I’ll make a few enquiries. I’ve got some free time now, after all. I’ll let you know if I find out a name for a young Jedi, with a green lightsaber, flying an X-wing with a blue R2 droid. If you’ve got a name, you should be able to do the rest when you want to check up on ‘em.”

“You don’t… have to do anything for me any more. You more than kept your word to me.”

“I know. This one is a freebie. I might get back in the bounty game. You get any good offers you can’t take up, you might refer them to me, eh?”

Din nodded. “Thank you.” He couldn’t imagine working again, but he couldn’t imagine much of anything at that moment. His mind had shrunk under the pressure of emotional and physical exhaustion. He seemed to have room for only two feelings at a time, maximum, and currently they were missing Grogu and wanting to be with Cobb. 

Now the wanting to be with Cobb was satisfied, and the missing Grogu remained, and maybe, with a little time and rest, his mind would expand to the point where he could think and feel about other things again. Until then, he lay and watched his sleeping face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't yet decided if I'll continue this any further - I wanted to get them to a point where it felt comfortable to leave them, but there are obviously threads to follow if I want - sooner or later Bo-Katan will be in touch and Boba might too. The question is whether I can handle that sort of scope instead of just writing about two people in one room! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how wise it is to continue with this story because I'm going to have to think of Plot and that's a weak point for me, but I just really want to write about Din and Cobb being together, finding peace and comfort living together, so I did. Now guest starring Boba Fett! But not like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything that doesn't make sense from a _Star Wars_ or general science fiction point of view, please assume I just fudged because writing domestic fluff and smut is where my real interest lies. We're lucky I can remember what bacta gel is, I won't be able to remember what they call space coffee.

Not long after he woke up, feeling refreshed but ravenous, Cobb decided that the two best things he could do for his new man were to keep him loved up and to keep him occupied. The first was a sheer pleasure and the second wasn’t difficult to arrange because he was a busy man himself and could always use help.

“Oof. We smell exactly like two guys who spent half the day fucking,” he said, sitting up and rumpling his hair with one hand. He looked down at Din lying beside him, looking half asleep, and patted his chest. “You want lunch?” 

“I guess,” said Din without much enthusiasm. 

“C’mon, let’s clean ourselves up, get something to eat and after that I better show my face in town.”

Din just kind of followed him through the bathroom. His sleepy face was cute but he needed a nudge or two to remind him to actually wash. Back in the bedroom he put on his underwear and then stood there looking confused. 

“What’s up?” Cobb asked him, pulling up his own pants.

“I just… don’t know if I’m getting all the way dressed or not.” He looked around at the flight suit crumpled on the floor and the armour parts stacked in the corner.

“You’re tired. Get half dressed. Shirt and pants, put the rest on before we go out.” He was only bothering with his undershirt until then.

“I must be,” Din mumbled. 

“Must’ve rode you too hard,” Cobb said, and slapped him on the ass on his way out.

“Planning to do that a lot?” Din asked, following him.

“Do you hate it?” Cobb asked over his shoulder.

“I’m not used to it.” Din swatted his ass in return and he yelped. “Well, it’s satisfying to do.”

Whether it was slapping or being slapped that did the trick, he seemed to perk up a little, and Cobb realised it would actually help more to give him something to  _ do, _ so he put him to work peeling and chopping up the root vegetables to make a hash while he took care of the mushrooms. It emerged that Din had never used a vegetable peeler. 

“You could probably figure out how to use it to kill a guy though, right?” Cobb asked, giving him a demonstration.

“What, one layer of skin at a time?” Din asked, taking it back and making a start.

“Didn’t they get you kids to help cook in… foundling school or whatever?” 

“Sometimes,” said Din, shrugging, “but we just peeled with a plain knife.”

“Well, you must think me all citified with my fancy vegetable peeler.” He went back to slicing mushrooms. “My daddy got me to start helping him cook as soon as I could stand on a box and reach the counter. Never waste a pair of hands.”  _ Dumbass, why are you sharing your happy father-son memories with a man who just said goodbye to his kid?  _ “So you’ve gotta help too,” he said, trying to pivot towards the present situation. 

“Of course,” Din said. “I’ll do… whatever.”

“Whatever will do nicely.”

They moved quite comfortably around each other, getting the food ready, and sat down to eat side by side. 

“Good?” Cobb asked hopefully after Din’s first bite.

“Mmhm,” Din said, mouth full. After swallowing he said, “My cooking skills begin and end at warming up ration packs, but I can taste when food is good. This is tasty.”

“Well, ration packs are convenient, nutritious and consistent, and that’s all I can say for ‘em. I need to get some real meals into you. You’ll feel better then.”

Din was thinking with some admiration of how domestic Cobb seemed to be right across the board. He had chosen a home, he knew how to make it comfortable, he wanted to share it with people he cared about, and he would defend it with all necessary force. He couldn’t really imagine how to do all that himself — the defending part, yes, but all the comfort and care, that seemed like a set of skills almost magically removed from his own. His own patchy efforts at homemaking on the Razor Crest — that he’d cobbled together that little hammock, for example — looked especially feeble by comparison. Even if Cobb had been living a transient life in a small ship, he would have made it comfortable and bright. This was, after all, not anything special as houses went, just one of those interchangeable mass-produced prefabricated houses you saw anywhere on Tatooine where people had settled but not too permanently. It could be picked up and moved elsewhere quite simply. The difference between them was it would never have occurred to Din to try to do more than necessary to keep it habitable. Pick each of them up and move them into the other’s life and this place would be as alternately cluttered and bare as the main cabin of the  _ Razor Crest  _ had been. And chances were he would have slept on the couch by default and kept weapons in the bedroom. 

“You’re looking around for something?” Cobb asked. 

“Wondered where you store weapons.” 

“The big cabinet just inside the front door,” said Cobb, “plus there’s a rifle under the bed just in case of midnight surprise parties. We can find spots for your gear.”

“My whole armoury’s gone,” Din said. “So it’s just what I carry on me.”

“I’m real sorry. Still, sooner or later some assholes are sure to show up and you can have the pick of their stuff when we’re done with them,” Cobb said kindly, which made him smile. “I’m going to be so much easier in my mind with you here when trouble starts. It wasn’t just me, was it? Fighting together with you, it felt like things just clicked into place and we understood each other,  _ knew  _ each other like we’d been a team for years. I was still scared, make no mistake, but I felt like we could do whatever we had to. You could anticipate what I was going to do, I could for you — well, until you decided to do something outright crazy, that took me by surprise, but you saved the day.”

“It wasn’t just you. I felt that too. That’s one of the things I couldn’t stop thinking about, when I thought of you. It was one of those things that made me think ‘this is so wrong, I shouldn’t want it,’ because you were in Mandalorian armour and you weren’t Mandalorian and yet you were perfect in it. You moved like it was made for you. You were…” He paused, trying to get his thoughts into order, pushing the hash around with his fork. 

“A match for you?” Cobb asked, watching him with his chin on one hand. 

“You don’t often see something that’s completely wrong and completely right at the same time. That’s how you felt fighting alongside me. I knew I was doing the right thing taking the armour away from you, but part of me wanted to let you keep it. Part of me wanted to ask you to come with us and go wherever we went together and always fight by my side like we did that day. But I knew you would never do that,” he added quickly. “You love this place too much and your dedication to it is part of what made me love you.”

Cobb gave a little chuckle and for a moment Din felt really hurt, if he was laughing at such an outpouring of his deepest and most difficult feelings. “Well, that’s a funny coincidence, ‘cause I was wanting  _ you _ to stay forever, but I knew you wouldn’t because you loved your kid too much, and your dedication to  _ him _ is part of what made me love you. How about that? If I’d’ve got everything I wanted, I’d’ve actually been a little disappointed.”

Din needed to take a deep breath, because the mirage of the life they could have had was shimmering in front of him, living in this house together, bringing up Grogu, even if that meant letting his talent fade untrained, just letting him be a  _ kid _ who had two parents that loved him, and in such a totally obscure and unattractive place that maybe, somehow, it could truly have been safe for him. At least between the two of them, with such a near-perfect harmony when they fought, they could have stopped almost anyone coming after him dead. What they would have done if Grogu had still been a little kid after another twenty, thirty years, when they would both be getting too old to care for him and defend him, if they lived so long, didn’t factor into the mirage. As a mirage it could always be beautiful. He felt Cobb’s hand on his forearm, giving it a little soothing rub, and it helped. “Thank you,” he said, although his voice was thick and his throat hurt a little. 

“I’m so glad you can be here with me after all,” Cobb said softly. 

“Me too.”

“And after this, we can get…” He stopped, his eyes straying away, then said, “What’s the time?”

“I don’t know.”

Cobb jumped up and checked the clock on the stove. “Shit! I’ve got a thing, I’m due at the school in ten minutes’ time. Completely forgot. We gotta go. I mean I gotta go. You don’t have to come.” He was talking while shovelling the last of his lunch into his mouth. “Come if you want to! But if you just want to stay here and rest, you should. If you do want to come, get your gear on pronto.” 

They scrambled to get fully dressed, Din reflecting as he did so that this was what you got for staying out of your armour for any extended period; you weren’t ready to go at a moment’s notice. He was a little bit amused to see Cobb checking himself one last time in the mirror and smoothing the sides of his hair back with his palms. The only attention he paid to his own hair was to trim it short enough that it wouldn’t get in his eyes while squashed down by the helmet, but Cobb might have a touch of vanity about his. Well, he had something to be vain about. 

They left the house with about three minutes to spare, Cobb walking fast and Din matching his stride. Mos Pelgo was basically just a scratch in the desert, one street like a line drawn in the sand by a giant child with a stick, and Cobb’s house was near the centre of it. The schoolhouse was down at one end and appeared to be the largest and best-maintained building in the place. The double doors were standing open and people were walking in; there was the sound of a lot of chatter inside. Just before they drew level with the doors, Cobb reached back and stopped Din with his hand on his arm. 

“Before we go in,” he said, “I just need you to know.  _ This was not my idea.” _

_ What was that about?  _ They stepped inside and Din looked around the large room, the rows of desks, parents trying to sit in slightly-too-small chairs while kids milled around, the display boards up at the far end — ah. The display boards were all lit up with large, multi-coloured Basic characters in children’s slightly wobbly writing. MARSHAL VANTH DAY. He turned his head to look at Cobb, whose cheeks were reddening.

“Don’t give me that look,” he muttered.

“What look?”

What followed was a presentation from the children of their art and writing about Cobb, and how brave he was, and how they wanted to be like him when they grew up, and how he was kind to everyone and knew all their names, and how he was definitely just as great and special even though he didn’t have his magic armour any more and they all wanted him to know they thought so. Cobb had to sit on the teacher’s dais as guest of honour, looking alternately politely grateful, genuinely moved, and embarrassed to death. Din had retreated to the very back of the room to stand by the wall and watch, his arms folded, biting his lips to keep from laughing, with adoration in his heart. He would have had an entirely good time except that one of the mothers first had to carry her baby outside because it started crying during the display of art of Marshal Vanth running bad guys out of town, then after a few minutes brought it back in but stood beside him at the back wall where it would be easy to leave again if the crying repeated. The children formed up into a choir and started singing a song about courage, and the baby, which might be about a year old if he took a guess, propped itself up on its mother’s shoulder and stared at Din the entire time. It was, frankly, a funny-looking baby, with a frizz of black hair that looked like it was trying to float up in the air, but it also had big brown eyes and a very penetrating stare. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. It was probably just looking at him because he was unusual, a big shiny man with no face. He tried waving at it, raising one hand and just wiggling the fingers, and it broke into a grin with exactly four teeth in it, two on top and two below. Din’s heart seemed to twist in his chest and he had to look away. He was going to have to try to stay away from little kids. 

Cobb was on his feet now, attempting a short speech in response. He stumbled over his words a little, which was unusual for him. 

“Uh, kids, thank you all. I have to say I didn’t really want to come here today, because I don’t think anyone should do what I’ve been trying to do for the attention, but then, it’d be rude to throw all the — the good feelings you’ve shown me back at you. And even if I’m embarrassed getting praised like this, I think your artworks and your writing and your singing — they’re beautiful, they’re great. You’re so smart. Aren’t they, folks? You kids work so hard and you make all of us, your moms and dads, your teacher, me, this whole town — proud every day. I do what I do because I want every one of you to grow up knowing you’re safe and you’re free to do what you want with your lives. Seeing all of you here means I’m doing something right. I’ll keep doing everything I can. And if you want to thank me any more, the best way to do it is by growing up strong and free and making your way in the world, whether you stay close to home or you fly to the stars. I’ll keep being proud of every one of you. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He made a swift retreat to the seat of honour under cover of the applause, but was pulled back up to his feet by two very determined little girls and forced to stand and receive an obviously handmade medal. The schoolmistress led the children into a second song about hope, and then after that there was cake. 

The baby was allowed to have some cake and Din found he couldn’t watch it eating, so he slipped outside and sat on the ledge beside the front steps, looking up and down the street at the town, baking under the afternoon suns. He’d never been to an event quite like that. The Watch had its own rituals for recognising effort, service and success, and he’d been rewarded like that himself, but it was all much lower-key. No songs. No cake. A few judicious words of approval from the Armourer and something new for your armour or weaponry. Cobb definitely deserved something like that, but he had nothing fitting to give him. Everything he had was either a mass-market weapon you could buy in any half-decent shop, or an artifact of profound significance to Mandalorian culture. Either not special enough or far too special. 

After a little while the parents and children left — some of them waving and saying goodbye to him as they passed, which he tried to return politely — and when they had dispersed eventually Cobb emerged. He stood looking down at Din and scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows up and creasing his forehead. “Sure wish I’d told you to stay home,” he said. 

“And miss your medal ceremony?”

“Don’t test me, partner.” Cobb took off the medal and tucked it into his pocket — tucked, not shoved. He was taking care of it.

“Are you sure it wasn’t your idea?” Din asked, getting up.

“They did a unit on celebrations and how they work and then the schoolmistress says, ‘let’s hold a celebration of our own, you can all suggest themes and then vote for one’ and she swears that’s what the kids came up with and voted in themselves. I told her next year they can do Life Day, I surely appreciate it but I’m not sitting through that again.”

“I thought democracy was supposed to be restored.”

“Keep talking, smartass, and next year it’ll be Mando Day.”

“That’s not funny.”

Over the next several days he learned more about what Cobb’s life was normally like, the way he patrolled the town and its surroundings, stopping to talk to people wherever he went, getting information, giving advice where needed. He was a genuinely friendly man and plainly liked the people he served but his eyes and voice were cold and hard when he had to warn someone to stop what they were doing, and he gave only one warning before he took them to the ground. The one exception Din saw was when the miner on a payday drunk who started smashing glasses and bottles in the cantina was plainly not quite in his right mind, gesturing and shouting at things only he could see. Cobb talked him down quietly and steadily until he agreed to let the town sawbones give him something and sleep it off in her clinic rather than in the lock-up. 

Wherever Cobb went in those days, Din was behind him like a beskar shadow. Cobb didn’t particularly introduce him, other than a few mentions of “You all remember our Mandalorian friend — glad to say he’s back with us for a bit,” but people started addressing him as “Deputy” on their own. It took him by surprise the first time, but he rather liked it. 

“Don’t recall deputising you,” Cobb said as they were getting home one evening, “but it seems unanimous.”

“Democracy again,” said Din, parking the old speeder bike Cobb had found for him next to the larger one in the shed behind the house and dismounting. “Can’t fight it.”

They met a party of the local Tuskens outside of town one day, travelling towards Mos Eisley to trade, and Din interpreted. There was no native Tusken word or sign for “marshal” but they’d settled on addressing Cobb with a sign combining “others” and “defender,” which was a great deal more respectful than their earlier use of “leader water thief.” They still called him “Mandalorian,” as he would expect, but one scout suggested it might now be “second others-defender,” in a jokey sort of way, so they seemed to have the same idea. It was, he reflected, kind of nice.

Also kind of nice was the developing routine and rhythm of their home life, the soothing sameness of getting up together and going to bed together. He’d lost the routine of looking after a small child, and this wasn’t the same, but that was for the best. There were new habits to form. At first taking off his helmet when they got home felt strange and still, if only vestigially, quite wrong. He often forgot until he noticed Cobb noticing that he hadn’t yet, never actually commenting, but his eyebrows moved in a particular way. Then he made a point of taking it off to kiss him. Having someone to kiss whenever he felt like it was extraordinary. Physical affection! Who knew? Now that he had experienced a little of what it was like he found that he wanted it more and more, and to try every way that he could kiss him, whether it was a peck on the cheek when he passed him going different ways in the hall, or on the back of his neck when he found him cleaning the dishes and stepped up from behind to hug him and pin his hips against the sink with his own, or the kind of deep wet searching kisses they sank into in bed. The early, clingy touch-starved response was giving way to a kind of “I am no longer starving, in fact I am well fed, but now that I’ve been presented with this lavish banquet of touch I want to try some of everything.” 

There were nights that they spent all over each other (on one memorable and overheated occasion coupling once on the couch, once on the table and once on the hallway floor before they actually made it to the bedroom, by which time they were too tired for any more and just kissed each other good night) and there were also nights that they spent very quietly, doing practical things like cleaning and checking over weapons, or pleasant things like Cobb’s patchwork hobby (he was helping by picking over the various old clothes and fabric remnants that Cobb used as material and cutting out shapes as requested), or just sitting out under the moonlight with their drinks, watching for stars to fall while Cobb told him local tall tales or asked him about places far away and he tried to describe them in ways that were interesting and didn’t just focus on the obstacles they presented. They cooked their meals together, they listened to music on the radio (it faded in and out with the signal, but came through enough to be worth listening), they cleaned things and fixed things and generally nested together. 

And he felt like he was really being some good to Cobb, as a companion, as someone he trusted to care for him and make his burdens lighter. When they were lying in the pitch darkness of Cobb’s room waiting for sleep on his second night, chest to chest with their legs intertwined, Cobb had said, “It hasn’t happened yet and I don’t know when it might, but sometimes I get nightmares. If that happens, I apologise in advance, I may kick you and I’ll probably roll around a lot, maybe roll myself out of bed. Don’t be alarmed, okay? It’s just one of those things. At least I don’t snore, right?”

“Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t try to hold me still, that makes me feel trapped and it gets worse. But if you can touch me without holding me, like put one hand on my chest or my back, and talk to me and tell me I’m dreaming and I’m really safe in bed, that helps a lot. I’ll need a minute or two to wake up, but it’s easier that way.” 

“Sure, I can do that.”

He kissed Din’s cheek. “Thank you, darlin’. You ever get bad dreams?”

“Either I don’t dream, or I don’t remember them.” He noticed Cobb didn’t mention what his nightmares were about, but it wasn’t difficult to think of a few plausible themes. Captivity, punishment, things like that. If he didn’t want to say, Din wouldn’t pry. 

“Maybe you’re lucky. I do get good dreams too. Had some about you, for that matter. One that was shaping up to be a nightmare and then you rescued me, I liked that one.”

“I’d like it if I could dream about you.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Is ‘Deputy’ still okay with you?” Cobb asked Din when they were alone one afternoon, working on the engine of his speeder. “Or do you want me to tell them your name?”

“They all seem to accept that I don’t share my name with everyone, the same way I don’t show my face,” Din said, shrugging slightly. Although they were alone, they were outdoors and so he had his helmet on to be comfortable. Cobb had to try to read his mood from the broader strokes of his posture and gestures, but he was beginning to feel he understood quite a lot from the subtleties of the angle of his helmet. “It’s been nice not to be asked. They can call me Deputy if they like.” He paused, fiddling with one of the tools he’d been passing to Cobb as he lay on his back working on the underside of the speeder. “I liked them giving me a name in relation to you.”

“Well, I liked that too,” said Cobb with a chuckle. He had taken his shirt off to keep it clean and was pleasantly aware that Din was having a good old stare at his bare chest and arms as he worked. The angle of his head was unmistakable. The sunlight was hot and bright today, and he was sweating and flushed red, hoping that wasn’t the start of a sunburn. It would be nice to get indoors where it was shady and drink something very cold. And if it was a sunburn, it would also be nice to have bacta gel from the tube he kept in the icebox for that very purpose gently rubbed in by Din. It was so damn nice to have someone taking care of him — not that he needed a lot of care, he’d learned to be pretty self-sufficient, but the fact Din had decided on his own initiative that he was going to make his coffee in the morning, that he would clean the bathroom (the part of the house chores Cobb liked least, and he hadn’t complained about it, but Din was paying attention), that he patiently helped him learn at least one new sign a day, and how calmly he’d taken on talking him down from the occasional nightmares, all made him feel cosseted. 

He’d had two nightmares since Din came to stay, the first a minor one that caused a bit of rolling around and mutters of distress, but the second the full-on kind where he’d kicked out and fought with the bedclothes, feeling like they were pinning him down. In both cases, he’d woken with Din’s hand on his chest, over his pounding heart, and his voice quietly repeating, “You’re okay, buddy, you’re just dreaming, you’re safe in your own bed. You’re okay.” Cobb wondered if Dinn had intentionally called him something he’d called his child or if it was just what he reflexively did when, sleepy and no doubt a little confused, he needed to provide comfort. He didn’t want to ask in case it made Din uncomfortable, but it meant more to him than he could express. He didn’t want to describe the nightmares to him either — some of them were obscure even to him, things he couldn’t consciously remember, but he knew some were about when he was branded, the pain and helplessness of that moment, knowing his body wasn’t his own, and others were about escaping and being recaptured, and the discipline that had followed. He was proud that none of that had ever broken him, that he had never stopped believing a better life was possible and he deserved it, but he knew it had left marks on him deeper than the burns or lacerations on his skin. 

Then there were your dragon nightmares, your being stalked by an enemy you couldn’t see nightmares, your lost in a sandstorm nightmares, your trying to run through dunes that just got deeper and looser as some terrible thing got closer and when you tried to scream you couldn’t hear your own voice nightmares — for a generally contented man he probably had more than his fair share of them. But now he also had Din, quiet and steady, more comforting than anyone else he’d asked to do this for him, back when there was anyone else… he had Din, and when his heart was pounding a little less and he’d wiped the unseen tears off his face, Din’s arms around him had carried him gently back to sleep. 

Cobb watched him with interest as well as adoration, just trying to understand what made him tick. He was loving and wanted attention but was still in many ways very self-contained; he would happily fall asleep spooning Cobb, or vice versa, but when morning came he would be on his back, his arms folded over his chest in a self-hug. He was silent for long spells if not spoken to, although he would always be glancing over Cobb’s way. He was clearly making an effort not to dwell on his memories, although they ate at him, and would sometimes abruptly get up from sitting quietly, put on his helmet and head out the back of the house for a long walk alone. Still, he was always attentive, always trying to be helpful where he could, and when he came back from those walks he was calmer and more affectionate. He was just such a good person to have around. Cobb still called him “baby” and “darlin’” in moments of tender passion but he’d also taken to using a more sort of general, casual domestic-purposes “babe” that slipped out easily. “Babe, where’d I put those new power converters?” “Thanks, babe,” when a mug of coffee was placed in his hands. “Shake a leg, babe,” when Din fell asleep on the couch after lunch and needed a nudge to get moving for the afternoon’s work. In a way it seemed like his “baby” or “darlin’” was someone who needed his care, and his “babe” was someone he could rely on, an invaluable partner at work or at home.

And Din had shown himself invaluable again during a tense situation when a small Tusken child had gone missing and the whole tribe, out of their minds with worry and anger, had turned up demanding to know what the townspeople had done. Din had talked to them calmly, acknowledged how terrible the situation was, assured them of the town’s shared concern for the little one and help to find it wherever it might be. They’d organised search parties and got started.

As it turned out, the child had wandered away from its caregiver, got badly lost, and nearly died of heatstroke before being found by two little girls out catching lizards who had taken it home to their parents’ tool shed and made it their “baby.” They hadn’t harmed the Tusken kid, in fact had saved its life by getting it into the shade and giving it water, a few sips at a time, but they hadn’t told anyone about their find until their cousin, who was mad at not being included in the secret game, tattled. 

Cobb had gone out to meet the leaders with the kid in his arms and Din walking just behind him; he’d thought it should be Din who handed it back over but Din thought it was better to reinforce his leadership. The kid had broken the tension by holding out its arms and hooting happily inside its mask, and its parents ran forward to claim it. There had been a little more tense negotiation as Cobb, straining to remember everything Din had lately taught him, haltingly signed out that he took full responsibility for the situation, the children were being reprimanded by their parents, and any retribution the tribe required should fall on him only. He hadn’t been any too keen on making that offer, after the stories he’d always heard about their tortures, but trusted that Din wouldn’t have advised him to do it if it were as dangerous as it felt. And it had been all right. After he’d apologised kneeling with his head on the sand (which he also hadn’t liked, but a little humiliation was small change compared with the town’s safety), they had accepted the apology and affirmed that the truce continued. 

They left without much ado after that, and Cobb got to his feet and took a couple of deep breaths, dismissing the mental image that had come while his head was down of a gaffi stick swinging down to crash into his temple. Din had reached up, brushed some sand out of his hair and said quietly, “I was proud of you there.” Then, although they were out in the open on the outskirts of town, he had tipped up his helmet just enough for a kiss. No praise or reward could have been sweeter. 

They still hadn’t really talked to anyone about what their relationship was. Cobb found himself unaccountably shy about it. By all accounts that didn’t make sense, because he was nothing but proud of Din and counted himself damn lucky to have him, and Din had told him very clearly that he would be happy for everyone in town to know about them, but he kept thinking about how sudden it would seem, particularly after several years of his being so single people were worried about him. Yes, they would presumably just be glad he now had someone, but did it make him look kind of desperate that he’d jumped on Din so quickly? Or just like he knew a good thing when he saw it and didn’t waste time? 

He asked Din one evening what he thought about it. Din had been lying on the couch reading a recipe book he’d borrowed from a neighbour, something he seemed to be trying to take an interest in lately, although so far he’d only read and not tried to actually cook a recipe. For a few moments he didn’t look up, then he said, “I feel strange about it too. I’ve never had this kind of news to tell. I’d be proud for people to  _ know, _ but doing the telling is the hard work.”

“Maybe we wait just a little longer to make an announcement.”

“I think that’s smart.” He glanced over to Cobb at the table. “All that really matters is that I’m with you. What the people around us think doesn’t make that much difference.”

In the end their plans didn’t matter; Cobb inadvertently blew it one evening in the cantina when he absent-mindedly turned from a discussion with the sawbones to ask Din, “Babe, did you tell me one time that a bounty droid could be reprogrammed as a nurse, or am I thinking of…” He tailed off as he realised people around them had gone quiet. Din, who obviously didn’t drink in the cantina but made efforts to be sociable and had up to then been sitting beside him playing dominoes with a mining engineer, turned to look at him, his shoulders rising slightly, like a question. 

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, pay up!” the barkeep shouted. “We’ve got public pet name use, that’s conclusive.” There were assorted groans and a round of claps and whistles from around the room, and various people headed for the bar to hand over credits. 

“Uh, what?” said Cobb. 

“They were betting on you two,” said the sawbones, shrugging cheerfully.

“On whether we were together?”

“Oh no, everyone knew you were. The bets were about whether you’d announce it, or let it slip somehow, and what date. Did anyone have let it slip today, Zoster?” she called out to the barkeep.

“Nope!” he replied. “House wins. Congratulations, Marshal. Hope you’re very happy, Deputy.”

“I guess I’m happy,” said Din, sounding bemused. “I didn’t have to make an announcement.”

“And I guess I thought we were a little more discreet than that,” said Cobb uneasily. 

“Oh, bless your heart,” said the sawbones. “Do you even realise how you moped around the place when he left? At first it seemed like maybe you were just feeling cut down by not having your armour any more, but then that Mando girl stopped by and you were talking to her in here for hours, so for a minute there were some claims you just had a thing for Mandalorians and she was your next, but you only acted friendly and the eavesdroppers’ consensus was you were basically talking about him.”

“People eavesdrop on my conversations in here?”

“It was free entertainment. We take what we can get. Then of course he came back, and you sprang out of your seat like an ash-rabbit with stars in your eyes, and hurried him off home with you. Brax Spyve’s daughter claims she saw you holding hands in the street but she tells a lot of silly stories so that was ruled inadmissible as evidence.”

“Well, you all owe that little girl an apology, she was a faithful witness,” Cobb admitted. “I feel pretty foolish.”

“Oh, it’s made people happy. We thought it was cute you were shy about it for some reason. There was speculation it was forbidden love, you know, breaking some Mando commandment, and a few people thought it was one-sided on your part, because they said we couldn’t tell how the deputy felt without being able to see his face. Keener observers said of course you could, you just had to watch how he was always watching you.”

“It’s all in the angle of the helmet,” Cobb said. “It’s actually pretty expressive once you start paying close attention.”

“Are we finishing this game or what?” the mining engineer asked. 

“He’s grouchy because he’d bet on an announcement yesterday,” said the sawbones. 

“Congratulations and everything, but you guys are wimps,” the engineer muttered.

“You’re calling the dragonslayers wimps?” the sawbones asked. 

“Not universal wimps, specifically emotional wimps.”

“I can’t let that slide,” Cobb interjected. “I don’t care what you call  _ me _ but don’t call my man an emotional wimp, because he’s been through sorrows no one should and he can still love someone. I’m very proud of him. And I realise I’m embarrassing him right now so I’ll shut up.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” said Din, setting down a domino.

“No, you’re not, are you? You’re kind of pleased.”

“Is that how you read the angle of my helmet?”

“It is.” It was actually how he was reading the gentle press of Din’s knee against his under the table, and it was also how he read the grab of his hand on the way home. 

With all this, Cobb was hoping that after he did whatever he had to do in regard to Bo-Katan (and she could take her time getting in touch) Din would want to stay with him for the rest of their lives. This hope was a little shaken in the fourth week of Din’s stay, when they were called from breaking up a payday fight between two miners by a boy reporting that two ships were arriving just out of town, “and they looked fancy.”

Unscheduled visitors, or any visitors unconnected with the mine or resupply of the town stores, were so rare as to warrant immediate attention just to make sure they were peaceful. With Cobb quietly wishing once again that he still had that armour — since after all, having Din for backup was good but the two of them ready for anything would have been great — they headed out to see what was what. 

The ships did look fancy. They were recent models with clean, shiny bodywork. One was much smaller, a little more used-looking, and had the larger, sleeker ship in tow. It was a beauty, gunmetal grey and deep, dark red with swooping fins that probably served no purpose but to look graceful and fierce. A Twi’lek girl was getting out of the smaller ship, not much bigger than a family speeder, and peering at a clipboard in her hand. 

“Afternoon,” Cobb called out, approaching her with a wave and his other hand kept near his hip. “Welcome to Mos Pelgo. May I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” she said, “I think it’s for him.” She pointed past him to Din, who was giving his best impression of an immovable object. “The Mandalorian gentleman.”

“You order a spaceship, babe?” Cobb asked, turning to Din. 

Din shrugged slightly, and held out his hand for the holo-puck the Twi’lek was offering him. It flickered and projected a little cone of light, hard to make out in the desert sunshine, in which you could just about see, if you squinted, the outline of a very familiar helmet. 

“How are you, brother?” asked a recorded voice. “Doing better, I hope. I thought it was a shame what happened to your ship. Being self-employed, I know how hard it is to get work without reliable transportation. And having recently come into some money, I thought I’d indulge in a little generosity. This ship should help you get back on your feet. Don’t get used to this sort of thing, I’m not your bloody sugar daddy now. Come and see us when you’ve got time. Got some news you might want to hear.” The light flickered off. 

“Can you sign for it, please?” asked the girl, holding out her clipboard. “Chain code here.”

“Just a minute,” Din said, walking towards the ship. Cobb tagged after him, squinting up at the sleek shape, glinting in the sunlight. 

“She looks brand new,” he said. 

“Just about,” said Din. The ship’s name was blazoned across her flank in yellow,  _ Mudhorn,  _ with a stylised horn design similar to Din’s signet. He turned back to the Twi’lek. “Can you open her up? I want to inspect before I sign for delivery.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. She had the slightly unprepared air of someone conscientious but new to her job. She pressed a fob attached to her belt and the landing ramp of the  _ Mudhorn _ lowered. 

They walked up into the shade of the interior. “That was him, wasn’t it?” Cobb asked. “My armour guy. Fett.”

“Yes, delivery from Mr Fett,” said the girl, bringing up the rear. “Sorry, I should have said.”

“What did he mean about coming into money?” Din asked. 

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked, her eyes widening. “It’s all anyone can talk about in Mos Espa or Mos Eisley.”

“Ma’am, this isn’t a place the news rushes to reach,” said Cobb. 

“Well, you know Jabba the Hutt?”

Cobb turned his head and spat off the side of the ramp. “Yes,” he said, “safe to say we’ve heard of him. Bit the dirt the same year as the second Death Star. That’s not news.”

“My aunt saw it,” she said. “That rebel princess strangled him with her own chains, it was amazing.”

“Never heard that part of the story,” Cobb admitted. And he would have liked to. He glanced up the ramp to Din, who was quietly looking around a space he couldn’t quite see into. 

“Well, since he died his number two Bib Fortuna took over his empire, but it was never really the same. He wasn’t a Hutt, everything was going to pieces with the end of the  _ Empire _ empire, and it all got a little bit… small time? Over the last couple of years some people started running away. We were all hearing stories, wondering when it could be safe to go. And just a couple of weeks ago, Mr Fett turned up and took over the whole show. I was there. I saw him shoot the greasy old bastard,” she said with sudden vehemence. “No one really knows what’s going to happen or what his plans are but he’s giving people new jobs, and no one has to stay if they want to leave. I like making deliveries  _ so _ much better than shaking my ass on a chain.”

“That’s great,” Cobb said, and meant it. “Can you excuse me one minute?” He hurried up after Din. This ship was top class. He’d only ever been in something like this as property, when he was a lot younger, but it wasn’t fitted out for luxury the way that ship had been. Everything was streamlined, practical, there was an armoury you could probably take a small fortress with, there was no space wasted in the galley, the bathroom or the sleeping cabins, but it was also comfortable. In the hold there were two small cells and a carbonite freezer unit, everything new and spotless. It was definitely intended as a bounty hunter’s ship. He found Din in the cockpit, looking over the controls. “Wow,” said Cobb, “what do you think he’d have given you if he  _ was _ your sugar daddy?”

Din turned to him and he was pretty sure he was getting a sharp look from behind the helmet. 

“I’m joking,” he said. “This is just… it’s a  _ big _ gift.”

“I didn’t expect anything,” said Din, shaking his head. “He already went far out of his way to help me. I owe  _ him.” _

“You worried he’s trying to put an obligation on you?”

“This would be a strange way to do it. Maybe he does just... enjoy having a chance to be generous.”

“While taking over a criminal empire? I’m glad that’s not in my town.”  _ I’m being selfish.  _ “This is a great ship and you deserve it. To be able to go on with your real life. Sure wasn’t expecting this, though.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Din said, his voice sounding odd. “It’s… good of Boba, but…”

“But?”

“I’m happy living with you.”

“Phew.” Cobb’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I was afraid you’d be raring to go.”

“Why?” Din asked. 

“Well, it was your job for so long. And you could carry on earning money for the foundlings, right?”

“Well, I could only save it up if I couldn’t find an Armourer to give it to,” Din pointed out. “And it was never… what I’m doing now is more satisfying. It’s...  _ nice _ to have people be happy to see me, because I’m with you. I can use a lot of the same skills, but I get to see that I’m protecting your community. I’m helping the person I love. If this ship comes in handy for that, I’m happy, but leaving just means being alone again and missing you all the time. Why would I choose to have two people I always miss?”

“When you put it like that, I see what you mean,” Cobb said. He took Din’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Well, we ought to make it official. Make you a badge or something.”

“You don’t wear a badge,” Din pointed out. 

“I could start. We’d match. It’d be cute.”

“Right, because people like to see their lawmen looking cute. Inspires confidence.”

“You happen to be cute, sir, you can’t fight it.”

“I’m a faceless figure in armour.”

“Who likes to pet puppies. I’ve seen you.”

“Because puppies are cute. Not me.” He paused, looking at Cobb’s hand in his. “You know what I noticed back there?”

“On this ship?”

“I know you were never on board the  _ Razor Crest,  _ but it was… pretty spartan. It met my needs at the time and it was definitely a one-man ship. That’s typical for a bounty hunter working alone. This ship has two cabins, though. Boba allowed for the possibility I’d be working with a partner, like he works with Fennec. They’re each big enough to sleep two, as well, if you’re friendly.”

“Which you and I are,” said Cobb. He wondered if Din was inviting him to help break the new bunks in. 

“I know you would never leave this place for long, it’s your town. But if you wanted to go on a trip, now I could take you. It’s a big galaxy. You’ve only seen Tatooine. I could show you a forest, or the ocean.”

Cobb blinked. He really hadn’t considered that he might travel on board this ship too. A few days away probably wouldn’t do any harm, but then again he might be gone just at the time an emergency arose. “Gee, I don’t know,” he said, stalling. “The ocean might be a bit much for a desert boy. Just trying to imagine a stretch of water as big and blank as the Dune Sea gives me the willies. You should start me off small. Take me to a planet with a pond.”

Din laughed, a quiet crackle from within the helmet. “I could find you one. You want a pond with frogs in it? Ducks?”

“Surprise me.”

“Um, excuse me.” The Twi’lek delivery girl was hovering in the doorway. “Is everything okay? If you’re ready to sign, I can get going.”

“Yes. Just a moment, I want to record a message for you to take back.” Din pressed the record button on the holo-puck that he still held. “Boba. Thank you for this generous gift. I didn’t expect it, but I’ll try to make good use of it, and I’ll come see you soon.” He clicked it off again and exchanged it for the girl’s clipboard, where he entered his chain code. 

“Thanks!” she chirped. “Okay, enjoy your ship!” She bustled off, leaving them alone. 

“Guess you could start her up once the tug is clear,” Cobb said. “Move her and park behind the house.”

“And block the view?”

“You’re sassy today,” Cobb said, grinning. There was a little angle to the helmet that he associated with a small smile with raised eyebrows, Din’s “who, me? But I am a big stoic Mandalorian and definitely not pulling your leg” face. He was very fond of that one. 

“I want to take another look at the armoury,” said Din, brushing past him to go through the doorway. Cobb followed, since he was curious about that too. There was a big double-doored cabinet containing weaponry ranging from a tiny pistol you could strap to your inner forearm and flick down into your palm up to what appeared to be a rancor gun. Something for every occasion. There was another cabinet next to that, which Din opened while Cobb was still poring over the weaponry, and he stepped back from it and went very still. Cobb noticed and looked over his shoulder. The cabinet contained a suit of armour, gunmetal grey and deep red like the hull of the ship. It looked deadly and beautiful. 

“Is that…”

“It’s not Mandalorian,” Din said, sounding puzzled. “And he knows I don’t need it.” There was a tag hanging from the helmet and he pulled it off. A holographic message played on its surface, Fett’s voice again. 

“This is for your mate the marshal. It’s not Mandalorian standard but it’s got similar bells and whistles. Maybe he won’t be so quick to wear other people’s armour if he’s got his own.” That seemed to be all. 

Cobb looked at Din, at the armour, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He reached out to touch the sleek metal of the breastplate. “I can’t accept this,” he said, even while he was admiring it. 

“Even if he is just enjoying being generous?” Din asked. “No strings attached?”

“Much as I’d like to believe he’s like me and he sees it as a treat to be able to be kind, we’re talking about a man who just took over the Hutt empire on Tatooine. That’s the slave trade, that’s organised crime, that’s spice distribution. Everything I’m pushing back against. I’m not putting myself in his debt. There’s more strings on this thing than the new year kite festival.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m not comfortable with it myself. When I go to see him, I’ll be trying to figure out his angle. If I don’t like it, I’ll leave the ship there and come home another way.”

“But damn, I wish I could just take it!” Cobb exclaimed. “Look at this beauty.” He was itching to try it on and discover what all those bells and whistles were. Figuring out what all the parts of Fett’s armour could do had given him hope that he could take back some control of his life and protect the people and the home he cared for, but it had also been  _ fun.  _ It was  _ nifty. Flamethrower, _ he thought wistfully.  _ Jetpack. Fighting side by side with Din as his equal. Feeling that connection and that power. _

“I know,” said Din, quietly but with feeling. “I’ve been wishing I had any kind of gift to give you, some way to honour you. Besides just the practical fact that it would make your work easier. You deserve it.”

“You’re the gift. You know that.” He nudged Din with his elbow. 

“A gift you would still have if I wasn’t there. Just temporarily. If I needed to take a trip.”

“Which you could… with your new ship.” 

Din put his hands on his hips and sighed. “There’s something I haven’t told you about yet, because it didn’t seem worthwhile when I didn’t know if anything would come of it.”

“Okay.” 

“Boba offered to try and find out some information on Grogu’s Jedi for me. At least a name. That’s probably the news he has for me.”

“Well, that’s important!” He put his hand on Din’s shoulder. “You gotta go find out.”

“I don’t want to pin anything on it. Even if I can work out where he is I shouldn’t interfere in his training.” 

“But it’d give you some peace of mind?” Personally he thought Din should find out exactly where this weirdo had taken his kid and go right directly there and not leave until he saw Grogu and knew for himself that he was safe and happy, but it wasn’t his kid.  _ Personally _ he thought Din should go kick the guy’s door down and bring Grogu home so they could live as a family, because he had wanted that since he saw Din putting the kid to bed on his couch, but he was trying not to pin anything on that wish either. 

Din nodded.

“You want me to go with you?”

“There’s no need.”

“Did I ask you that?”

A pause. “I’d like it if you did.”

“Good. I never met any of your friends before.”

“My friend who we both think might be taking over as the leading crime lord of Tatooine.”

“Yeah, your friend who may still want to kick my ass for wearing his family heirloom. That guy.”

“We’re stopping in Mos Eisley and I’m introducing you to Peli Motto first. She’s a better first friend to meet.” Din sighed again. “And she deserves to know how everything she tried to help me with turned out.”

Din wasn’t looking forward to seeing Peli. She was a good friend and he truly liked her, but she’d doted on Grogu and could only be disappointed to see Din without him. She was gratifyingly impressed with the  _ Mudhorn,  _ which he was trying not to think of as his until he’d decided whether he could justify keeping it, and just as dismayed as he’d expected to hear Grogu was no longer with him.

“Don’t you  _ miss  _ him?” she exclaimed.

“Every day,” he said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said at once. “That was thoughtless of me. He was just such a  _ cute _ little booger. When do you get to see him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, if he’s at school, when’s vacation?” she asked, practically.

“I — I don’t know.”

“Well, you should find out! You’ve got rights, you know. The time and trouble you put into taking care of him, that has to mean something.” She glanced sideways at Cobb, who was standing beside him waiting patiently to be introduced. “Who’s this tall drink of water?”

“Ma’am,” said Cobb, touching his forehead and giving her something short of a bow but long of a nod. Peli gave him a look composed of equal parts well-worn scepticism and sincere flutterment. 

“This is Cobb Vanth. He’s the marshal of Mos Pelgo, where I’ve been living.” He paused; he felt oddly nervous to share this news, which surely wouldn’t raise Peli’s eyebrows all that much, but it was the first time he’d ever had this sort of news to share. He wasn’t sure he was going to put it in the right words. “With him.”

“Oh? Oh! Congratulations. That was unexpected, but you deserve something nice. Is he nice? You never really know, Dune Sea boys can be sweethearts or shitkickers.”

“He’s nice.” He might be a little tongue-tied with nerves but he could do Cobb more justice than that. “He’s very nice.”

“And also a shitkicker,” Cobb said, grinning at him.

“So did you come in here just to share your news?” she asked.

“I’m en route to Jabba’s palace. I heard it’s under new management.”

“Ooooh,” she said, arching her eyebrows and pursing her mouth. “So you’ve been hearing the gossip?”

“Not until this ship was dropped off. What’s your opinion? I trust your judgement.” She’d been right on the money about the frog lady, after all. 

“Well, the joke is we don’t know whether to call him Jabba Fett or Boba the Hutt. No one really knows what to expect. I’d be so much happier if we weren’t all at the mercy of these kingpins. This was supposed to change, you know? New Republic, reform all over the place? No sign of that yet. So we all just wait and watch to find out how much of a problem he’s going to be.”

“I don’t know him that well,” said Din, “but I think he’s honest. He’s ruthless, but not cruel for fun. I’ve known him to go out of his way to help, and he keeps his word. I don’t know whether he’s planning to call in favours, but there was nothing said about it at the time. The ship was a gift from him.”

“A gift?” she repeated. “Are you sure? Because this looks an awful lot like a down payment.”

“If he means it that way he can have it back,” said Din. “Simple as that.”

Din had been to Jabba’s palace a few times in the past. He hadn’t worked for him extensively but Jabba was a frequent employer of bounty hunters and was well thought of in the sense that he paid well and he paid promptly. He hadn’t allowed himself other judgements at the time, but he remembered now that the whole place had struck him as tawdry and grimy, a shabby imitation of grandeur by a creature with no actual taste other than for power and a gloating cruelty. The throne room had been crowded with slaves, droids, attendants, guards, mercenaries, and general hangers-on. There had always been some kind of sticky mess on the floor and little creatures scurrying about licking it up and carrying off scraps to their hidey-holes. There had usually also been a band playing (if not well, at least loudly) and one or two glassy-eyed Twi’lek girls dancing in what was probably meant to be a sultry way. It did nothing for Din.

As they walked up the path toward the castle he noticed Cobb looked uneasy, more so than he might have expected for the circumstances. He was a little sweaty, although it wasn’t that warm of a day by Tatooine standards, and his posture was stiffer than normal. “You look like you’re not feeling well,” Din said. 

“I was here once before,” said Cobb. “Long time ago, and nothing good happened.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“It didn’t matter.”

“It matters. You don’t have to go in.”

“No, I’m going in.” Cobb rolled his shoulders back. “Though if it still stinks as bad in there as it used to, I may just step out for fresh air.”

“Good idea.” He would keep an eye on Cobb. Dumb of him not to think of the personal feelings he might have about the place. There were people with Hutt brands on them all over Tatooine, and of course most of them had never seen Jabba himself, but there was no reason to assume any particular one hadn’t. He didn’t know all the places Cobb had lived but he’d gathered that he’d been moved around a lot as he changed hands growing up; Mos Pelgo was just where he’d ended up.

Today the throne room was quiet and almost empty. There was a loth cat sitting in the middle of the floor with one leg up in the air busily licking its bottom. There was a protocol droid which ushered them in and then clanked off elsewhere, and there was Boba Fett sitting on the throne apparently writing on a holo-tablet. He had his armour and helmet on, which put Din a little more at ease right away. He hadn’t been too sure where Boba would stand on that, but clearly he was in the “more comfortable with it on” camp regardless of practical necessity.

“Welcome to my new digs,” said Boba, looking up from his tablet. “What do you think?”

“You’re keeping it cleaner than I remember,” said Din, taking a slow turn around the room. “Less vermin.”

“Not a fan of old Jabba?”

Din shrugged. “I never liked that little thing that sat in front of him and giggled.”

“That little shit,” said Boba reminiscently. “My last job for Jabba, I nearly died. Lost my armour, lost a lot of skin… makes you stop and take stock. I had to think about whether I wanted the rest of my life to be what my life up to then had been. I didn’t. So I came up with a plan. I had to be patient, but it’s taking shape. Here we are.” He nodded in Cobb’s direction. “Marshal.”

“Mr Fett,” said Cobb, returning the nod. He was standing back a little, hip cocked and his hands on his belt. “Sorry ‘bout your armour.”

“Bygones,” said Boba graciously. “You took care of it. I’m not hard core like our mutual friend, I don’t think the armour’s sacred because it’s Mandalorian. It’s sacred to me because it was my father’s. To me it represents his love for me. His hopes. He was a very ambitious man. He thought big. My goals are a bit more modest, but I hope he’d be proud of how I go after them.”

“What’s next?” Din asked.

“I’m writing a book.” He tapped on the tablet in his lap.

“A book?” Din repeated, surprised. 

“You know, they have stories in them. I’ve got a few stories in me.” He paused. “Heard anything from the princess?”

“Not yet. I’m expecting it any day.”

“So you’ve still got the Darksaber.” It was a statement, not a question; Boba could see it on his belt. He carried it because he felt responsible for it, not because he planned to use it. The truth was he had much less experience and comfort with swords than with most other weapons, so it would never be his first choice. “You know, if you’re not too keen on fighting Bo-Katan, we could have a scrap right now and I’d gladly take it off your hands.”

It wasn’t a direct challenge that he had to take or be shamed, and Boba’s sly tone made Din smile. He realised he liked Boba, beyond the deal they’d struck; maybe they would be friends at that.

“And then she’d have to challenge you?” he asked. 

“I think it’d be pretty funny if her royal highness had to face off with a clone. She thinks I’m less than human. Even if she beat me, I’d make her sweat for it, and that’d be worth doing.” Boba stood and tipped his head from one side to the other, easing his neck. “I don’t think she’d beat me, though.”

“Wait and see if she takes it from me. You can still challenge her then,” said Din.

“You don’t really want to keep it though, do you?” Boba asked.

“I’ll make her sweat for it,” said Din. “Be rude not to.”

“There’s a lot of Mandalorians would give their teeth to have what you’ve got, but you’re not too fussed about it at all, are you?”

“I never wanted it. I just wanted my child back safe. He was my only priority.”

“I respect that. Fathers and sons, eh?” Boba hopped down from the dais and strolled over to him. He looked at ease and expansive. “I’ve got that information you wanted.”

“As you said, a freebie,” Din said. 

“Of course.”

“Given with no strings attached?”

“Not a string to be seen.”

“Sometimes you can’t see the strings till someone pulls ‘em,” Cobb spoke up. Boba’s helmet turned his way. Din didn’t know him well enough to guess the expression that might be underneath it. 

“Well, that’s true,” Boba said. “But I have no sons of my own. Why not help an orphan?”

“You’ll forgive me if I have some doubts about your charitable intent, given the setting.”

“Oh, that’s what’s putting you off. But look what I’ve done with the place,” said Boba. He returned to boost himself up and sit perched on the edge of the dais. “I’d expect you to approve. Aren’t you the one who sent a slaver back to his boss with a message carved into the skin of his forehead? Or is that one of those exaggerated stories people pass around in the cantinas?”

“I don’t know how it may have got embroidered by the time you heard it but I did do that once,” said Cobb. “They brand us. Tit for tat, basically. What’s that got to do with you cleaning house?”

“I’m shutting down the slave trade on Tatooine,” said Boba. “We’re still processing all the manumission papers for everyone owned by Hutt business interests, but that’s happening. That’s going to open up the market to a lot of competitors, but when they think it’s time to jump in and take up the space we vacated, they’ll experience a bit of a hostile takeover.” He leaned forward and added in a confidential tone, “That’s businessman talk for we’re going to shoot them if they try.”

Cobb’s eyebrows had bounced up at “shutting down the slave trade” and continued to gradually climb. “You have my attention,” he said. “Still like to know why. Like why you, why now?”

“Why now? Because I finally can.” Boba tapped on the chestplate of his armour with his knuckles. “Why me? Because who else is going to do it? No offence, you’re doing a bloody good job out your way but you’re one of those act locally guys. You picked a place and you’re defending it from whatever comes. I am one of the think globally guys. I said to myself, Boba, you need to go to the head of the organisation. Chop it off and put yourself in its place. Dismantle the whole crooked thing from the top. There’s a whole lot of people who’ll be grateful enough for their freedom to want to keep working with you, and those who don’t, well, they’ll prove to everyone that you’re on the level. Make Tatooine your base and work out from there. But look, this has actually got to do with my info for you,” he said, turning back to Din. “Your Jedi is called Luke Skywalker.”

“Why, that’s a Tatooine name,” said Cobb, sounding surprised. “Skywalkers are common as sand.”

“Yep,” said Boba.

“Luke Skywalker,” Din repeated. “You’re sure?”

“Once I’d looked him up I was a bit embarrassed to realise I actually knew him already — probably would’ve recognised him if I’d been there when he showed up. He was an associate of a bounty I brought in for Jabba. The last big job I did before everything went wrong. The bounty was a spice runner called Han Solo, owed Jabba a lot of money. Either he was secretly brilliant or the man had the most annoying dumb luck in the galaxy. But anyway, Solo and Skywalker both became leaders in the Rebellion. Generals, I think. That lot love making themselves generals, that or admirals. The only time I took a good look at Skywalker was not long before I got shot by Solo while he was still half blind from the carbonite and I fell in a sarlacc’s mouth, so let us just say he wasn’t the most memorable part of my day.”

Cobb whistled and said, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“It took a long time for me to  _ feel _ lucky,” said Boba, “but yeah, now I’d agree. So they’re both big men in the New Republic. Not bad for a drug smuggler and a hick with sand in his shoes. But you look around on a planet like Tatooine and what difference does the New Republic make? Things just got more chaotic when the Empire fell — though it looks like it might be picking itself back up. I don’t have any problem with the New Republic but they haven’t got anything like the resources or the organisation they’d need to clean up the Outer Rim. It’s not even a priority for them. Just forgotten about. A bit like your town, marshal.” 

“Yeah,” said Cobb. “I heard the speeches on the radio, you know, slavery abolished, free elections, proportional democratic representation — I’ll believe it when I see it, and ain’t nobody come round here setting up a voting booth.”

“So I look around and I don’t like what I see, and I know nobody’s coming to do anything about it. I’ve taken a long hard look at myself while I was recuperating, and I don’t like the fact that I used to take money from slime like Jabba and make deals with filth like Vader. So you may think I’m a hypocrite, but I’d rather say I’m a changed man, and I’m trying to change the things I don’t like around here.”

“Who’s Vader?” Din asked. They both turned to look at him.

“Darth Vader,” said Cobb.

“Yes, who’s that?” It seemed like a reasonable question.

“Enormous bastard feared throughout the galaxy, Emperor Palpatine’s right hand man, evil magic powers,  **TALKED LIKE THIS** ? Ringing any bells?” Boba asked. 

“Oh well, if he was that important I probably wouldn’t have heard of him,” Din said. “I never know who anyone important is.”

“You know me now,” said Boba. “I’m going to be important.”

“I feel bad about breaking my streak.” Din glanced sideways at Cobb, who was apparently trying not to laugh, but also looking at him with profound affection. He was glad to have cheered him up. “Thank you for getting me that name. It means a lot to me.”

“Hold on, let’s just confirm we’ve got the same guy. Fennec says yes, but you were closer to him on the day.” Boba retrieved his tablet and brought it over to Din, changing the display. “This your Jedi?”

“It looks like him but younger. And blonder.”

“Yeah, it’s his high school yearbook picture. Clearest one I could get my hands on. For a famous hero he doesn’t seem to like having his picture taken.”

“His nickname was Wormie?” Cobb asked, looking over Din’s shoulder at the holo caption. “Poor kid.”

“I don’t know,” said Din. “He looks pretty happy.”

“You sound like that’s bothering you,” Cobb said.

“It is. The man I met had… dead eyes. I look at this kid with his big goofy smile and I think, is that what becoming a Jedi does to you?” He thought of the light in Grogu’s eyes when he was happy and his throat felt tight.

“Could be what living through a war does,” Boba said with a shrug. “Or maybe you got him on a bad day.” He looked from Din to Cobb. “This information is a gift. I ask nothing in return for it. I give you my word.”

Din nodded. Boba’s word was good enough for him. 

“The same applies to the other gifts. The ship and everything in it. In case you’re still worried about my charitable intent, marshal. If I were you though, I wouldn’t refuse help. Things are going to be kicking off soon, with the changes I’m making. I’m prepared for it. You should be too.”

“So knowing you’re going to destabilise everything, maybe sending trouble my way, you figured you’d try to cushion the blow,” Cobb said. 

“Watching you was one of the things that made me sure of what I wanted to do,” Boba said. “It’d be pretty ungrateful not to offer you some protection.”

“Listen. If we want the same thing, to drive out the slavers and the syndicates, I’m happy to work with you. Call it mutual assistance. I need you to understand Mos Pelgo remains independent. I remain independent. If I disagree with your plans, I will oppose you. I don’t serve anyone but my own people.”

“And I give my allegiance to no one,” said Boba. “Your terms are fine with me.” He offered his hand. Cobb looked at it for a long moment, then shook it. 

“Thanks for the armour,” he said. “I suspect I’ll get a lot of use out of it.”

“Well, I hope  _ that _ doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass,” Cobb said as they were walking back down to the  _ Mudhorn. _ He had been relieved not to feel too oppressively nauseated inside the palace — how quiet and empty it was had helped a lot — but it was a greater relief still to be breathing the fresh air outside, and that put him in a good mood, feeling much lighter. 

“I think your ass will be okay,” said Din. 

“Because you’re always watchin’ it?” Cobb gave him a grin and a wink. “Not that I’ll know if you wink back.”

“I can’t wink. Never learned.”

“You have the strangest gaps in your knowledge. Like —”

“Who cares who Darth Vader is? I never met him. He never hired me to do a job. He never did anything to anyone I know.”

“Isn’t your friend Cara from Alderaan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure he blew up Alderaan.”

“Oh.”

“He’s dead now.”

“Good.”

“So what do you want to do about Luke Skywalker, now you know his name?”

Din shrugged. “I’m still waiting on Bo-Katan. I should probably deal with her before I try to deal with him.”

“I wonder what’s taking her so long. If it’s such a big deal that every Mandalorian wants it. Except Boba, I guess, since he didn’t really push the question.”

“Well, Boba’s cynical about anything to do with Mandalore,” said Din. “He says the Empire laid waste to the planet and no one in their senses wants to be ruler of a ball of glass. That and I get the impression the mainstream Mandalorians never had much time for his dad or him. The fact he was left alone as an orphan when his father died bothers me. That’s exactly the type of child who should have been picked up as a foundling. I wish the Watch could have found him too.”

“Then maybe you two would’ve grown up together.”

“I think he’s a fair bit older than me.”

“Could’ve been like your big brother. Looked out for you and stuff.”

“You like that idea?”

“I think he’d like that idea. Kind of surprising, but he does seem to want to act like family to you.”

“But not a sugar daddy.”

“Sugar daddies ain’t family.” He paused. “You do know what a sugar daddy means, right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“A rich older guy who gives you presents and you put out for him.”

“I said I know that.”

“Just checking.”

“And smirking.”

“Well, you’re smarter than me so I think it’s funny when you don’t know something.”

“I’m not smarter than you.”

Cobb thought for a moment and signed “you’re smarter.”

“You learned that, so you’re as smart as I am.”

They had reached the  _ Mudhorn,  _ parked on the flat land down below the spiky ridge where the Hutt castle rose _. _ Cobb looked up at it, impressed again by the sleek lines of the ship. “Just as well, because I don’t even wanna  _ think _ what kind of shit you’d have to do for a present like this.”

“You’re making it weird. What about your armour?”

“I figure just blowjobs.”

“You’re making it weirder.” Din reached out and rested his hand on the fuselage. “I guess I’ve decided she’s mine now. I won’t feel bad if I use the head or sleep on the bunks.”

“Dang, were we not supposed to pee in it? I already peed in it.”

“Well, you’ve ruined the ritual, ceremonial Mandalorian New Ship First Pee.” 

“Is that a thing?” Din just looked at him, helmet straight and level. “Are you winking under there?”

“Can’t wink.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Now she’s cursed.”

“You’re funning me.”

“Would I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, get in and if she doesn’t blow up on take-off I guess she’s not cursed.”

Sitting in the cockpit, Din turned to look at him again; this time the angle of his head read sort of speculative. “Hey, you said you’ve lived on Tatooine all your life. You’ve flown between destinations on the planet, right?”

“Yeah, today wasn’t a first.”

“Been in orbit?”

“No.”

“Let’s do that.”

“You just want to impress me,” said Cobb, extremely pleased.

“Maybe.”

Tatooine from orbit was not an especially impressive sight. You could pretty much tell from ground level how it was going to look from high up, sand and rocks and rocks and sand. The sense of being suspended halfway between the planet and the vast totality of outer space was impressive, though. Cobb kept looking from the surface to the stars, and he realised he had a big silly childish smile on his face. Din was watching him and he knew he was smiling too, even behind the helmet.

“Okay, yes, you’ve impressed me,” he said. “This is really neat.”

“I know a planet with a pond. If you want to go.”

“You are spoiling me, sir.” Cobb hesitated. “Not that I wouldn’t like to go, but it just feels risky to be away so long. We already spent most of the day.”

“That’s okay,” said Din. “We’ll just go some other time.”

“No, wait. How much longer would it take?”

“It’s really close. Three hours away at light speed. We could be back home tomorrow.”

“You know what? Let’s do it. Aah, no. Now I feel like since I said that, we’ll come back and the town’ll be a smoking ruin.”

“Then let’s not go,” said Din, reasonably.

“But I really want to! Damn.” He sat back and propped his heel up on the dashboard.

“We can go whenever you want to.”

“I’m pulling the pin, let’s do this.” Cobb slapped his knee.

“You’re sure?”

“Hell no! Let’s go.”

“Okay. I’ll set a course. You just watch.”

And so Cobb got to see the stars blur and stretch and streak away for the first time.

After a few minutes’ avid watching he leaned over and asked Din, “Does it do anything different?”

Din chuckled. “No, this is it.”

“So I’m not being an ungrateful asshole if I don’t watch the whole way?”

“You want to go see if there’s anything in the galley?”

It was pre-stocked with a few ration packs and they heated two up. “These are… awful,” said Din, sounding surprised. “They’re a good brand too. I guess you spoiled me with your cooking.”

“That was the plan.”

“It’s so  _ grainy.” _ He’d taken his helmet right off to eat, and his expression made Cobb laugh, especially as he persisted in trying to eat it. “But it leaves this thin film of oil in your mouth too.”

“I’ve eaten a lot worse.”

“So have I, but still…”

There was still a lot of time to kill so they looked over the new armour.

“I know what you mean about now I’ve decided it’s mine,” said Cobb, inspecting the vambraces. “I wouldn’t have wanted to try it on before because it’d be easier to give it back not knowing what it was like. I sound like such a kid.”

“Don’t pee in it,” said Din.

“Now you’re making it weird. Look! Flamethrower. Thank you, not-Daddy.” He ended up putting the whole thing on. “The full set feels heavier than I was expecting. I guess Boba’s is a little more lightweight.”

“It suits you.” Din was moving around him checking and adjusting the fastenings, and possibly sliding his hands over his arms and back a little more than he needed to just for practical purposes. “I’m glad he picked red.”

“Oh, you like me in red?”

“You like you in red, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but compliment me here.”

“I like you in red. When I see red these days, I think of you first.” He came round to face him, looking him over head to foot, and seemed to be trying to formulate some words before giving up and kissing him. “That’s how I feel about how you look, okay?”

“I’ll take that, thank you.”

“And I think everyone at home is going to feel a lot safer seeing you like this.” Din was doing his forehead-rest thing again, and it was such a nice, calm feeling, particularly with his hand stroking the back of Cobb’s neck. He was calling Mos Pelgo “home.” Cobb thought that was the first time he’d heard it — well, they had to go somewhere else for it to make sense, and the trip was worth it for the pleasure of hearing that alone.

“Why, I could almost feel sorry for the next asshole who tries to start trouble in Mos Pelgo. But not quite.” 

“Not quite.” Din kissed him again, drawing him in with his arms around his waist. 

“You have ration pack breath.” It was kind of nasty, but not bad enough to put him off.

“Sorry, but so do you.” He persisted in kissing him, a gentle slip of the tongue between his lips.

“You know, some folks would say it’s back-asswards to get a guy not only dressed, but armour-plated, and  _ then _ get frisky with him.” He had some experience of hugging Din with armour on but both of them just felt ridiculous, two layers of metal and padding between their chests.

“They wouldn’t have seen how good you look.” Din kissed him again and slid one hand down to stroke his butt. 

“I’m so glad I found such a weird one,” Cobb murmured. “Hey. This is where you say the thing.”

“The thing? Oh.” A little smile flickered on Din’s face, a sweet combination of  _ I know what you mean and I’m so happy we have this thing  _ and  _ I feel like a bit of a saucy devil. _ “Take it off, or I will.”

“Try it.” That got him shucked out of his shiny new armour so fast he was out of breath when Din threw him over his shoulder and hauled him off to one of the two cabins — small and mostly filled up by the bunk, with just a little slice of floor just inside the door so you could stand up inside before you stepped out. Din more or less just pushed him in as if into a pigeonhole, and then cussed mildly because he realised he was still fully dressed himself and needed to get out of his suit fast while Cobb lay there grinning at him and unbuttoning his shirt. He struggled out of it at impressive speed and scrambled in on top of him, kissing him feverishly, and Cobb pulled him down to hug at full length. “We breaking in the bunk?”

Din lifted up on his elbows enough to look down on him, his face flushed and his hair tousled, eyes all bright and hazy with loving desire. “Want to?”

“You better now.” He lifted one leg, rubbing against Din’s thigh, breathing in deep as he bent to kiss his neck. It had been such a pleasure lately to see and feel Din gaining confidence in the way he made love to him, knowing he wasn’t just doing what he was asked or guided to do, carefully imitating what Cobb did to him. He had his own favourite things to do and his own way to do them. His hands and his mouth were quick and hot and eager, and he still had that joyful adolescent I- _ just _ -learned-how-to-fuck energy tempered by the stamina and patience of the mature man he was. With everything he did, his face was lit with wonder that he got to do this, that Cobb was here with him, wanting him too, meeting every kiss, rubbing against him, the two of them stripping away clothes to press together skin to skin. Din was stroking his chest and his belly, and his hands seemed to keep getting drawn back to his hipbones.

“That’s one of your favourite parts of me, huh?”

“Two.”

“Good point.”

“Two good points. I like how they  _ point.” _ He slid his hands down the angle of those bones, tracing a vee down into Cobb’s groin.

“Oh, that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Like you wouldn’t know how to get there without an arrow?” he asked with a soft snicker.

“Shh,” said Din, wrapping his hand gently around his cock. 

“You know where you’re going.” He kissed him gratefully and slid his hand down to give a matching squeeze. Din gave a little mumble of pleasure and rubbed into his palm. “Good?”

“Mmm…” Another warm, wet kiss, Din’s tongue sliding against his, his hand sliding up and down. He gave a soft grunt of satisfaction and moved to play with the head, rubbing them together. 

“So good,” he sighed, “so good, just like that.” 

“Just like this?”

“Good enough for me.” He kissed him and rocked against his hand, the two of them rubbing briskly together, panting softly and then more and more roughly, wet mouths and warm hands and breathless sighs and moans. He felt a deep, warm surge of love for Din, for the way he breathed against his lips and rolled half on top of him to thrust gently into his grip, for the smell of his skin and the slightly sweaty softness of his hair under his hand, and especially for the sweet, sharp little sounds he made as he got closer and closer to coming. 

“Slow down,” Din sighed.

“No, I’ll race you.”

“You jerk.” Din pushed him down, smiling, losing the smile in a deep, pulling kiss, and stroked him on up and over the peak, shortly before he trembled and spurted against Cobb’s belly. They lay drowsily cuddling, exchanging small, soft kisses, until a bleeping alarm made itself heard. 

“What’s that? Something wrong?” Cobb asked.

“No, we’re nearly there.”

“Oh, that’s right, we were actually going somewhere.”

“The planet with a pond.”

“I hardly wanna get up to see it.”

“Don’t say that. C’mon, let’s get dressed.” He patted Cobb on the hip and sat up. 

“Okay, but I’m only getting regular dressed, don’t care how cute you think I am in armour.” 

The planet was a lot prettier from space than Tatooine, a swirled marble of blue, green and white, and Cobb began to feel some proper curiosity.

“It’s pretty small,” said Din, “and mostly uninhabited, just one settlement in the southern hemisphere. I was planning to put us down in the northern hemisphere in a pretty spot with… actually, lots of ponds. I hope you won’t think I overdid it.”

“Ponds plural? You’re going to turn this simple desert boy’s head.”

“Ah, dank farrik.”

“What?”

“Look at the cloud cover. It’s raining where I wanted us to go.”

“Babe, you know I’ve never seen a cloud cover anything. To me clouds are those little pale puffy things you occasionally see up high before they blow away again.”

“Good point. You might actually like this.”

“Would I be right in thinking you know this beauty spot because someone tried to hide from you in it?”

“That’s right. That was a rough job. But I did remember it was pretty here.”

It was pretty fascinating to watch the descent through the thick layer of cloud, down to ground level. On the way a noise began and grew that filled the cockpit, the relentless drumming and shushing of the rain on the ship’s hull. The sound made Cobb’s back and neck shiver in the nicest way. “That is… that’s like magic. I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Din was watching him with his head tilted to one side, and although he’d put his helmet back on out of habit, Cobb thought he could read the fond little smile through it. 

The ship landed on a patch of somewhat soggy ground among an assortment of rounded ponds, some small enough to step across, some as big as the footprint of a small house, all of their surfaces dimpled and spattering under the rainfall. Din lowered the ramp and they walked down it side by side.

“The air feels so cold and heavy,” Cobb said in wonder. “Like you can feel it sitting on you. It’s wetter than in a vaporator, and it’s just happening by itself.” There were curtains of water running from the overhang of the  _ Mudhorn _ ’s superstructure, like hanging silver streamers.

“I hope you like it,” said Din. 

“It looks beautiful, babe. Thank you for bringing me.” 

“You’re just going to look?”

“Well, can I…” He stepped a little further forward and put out his hand. Water splashed on the tips of his fingers. He laughed. “There’s no end to it, is there? This isn’t even a waste. Doesn’t have to be drinking, washing or cooking, it’s water just for funsies.” He took a deep breath, walked out into the rain, and turned his face up to it. 

“How d’you like it?” Din asked after a moment. 

Cobb turned to look at him and laughed. “It is  _ awful.” _

“Awful?”

“It’s cold and wet! It runs all into your eyes and down your back! It’s been five seconds and I’m soaked to my skivvies here.”

“Well, come back in then.”

“No way! I’m making the most of this horrible experience.” He threw back his head and whooped at the sky. “Get out here with me!”

Din shook his head and followed him as he marched out between the ponds.

“It looks really neat how the drops bounce and splatter off your helmet. Like this silver halo over the top of you.  _ You _ get to stay dry.”

“Trust me, it’s running down the back of my neck too,” said Din ruefully. 

“And you’re enduring it with me like a true partner,” said Cobb. He pulled Din’s head down and smacked a kiss on the shiny dome of his helmet. 

“Maybe this wasn’t the way to try to impress you,” said Din. 

“Hey, I love that you wanted to give me a brand new experience. Even if it turns out to be all soggy.”

“I should take you to a beach. You’d feel at home because there’s sand.”

“Hey, what’s that noise?” Cobb asked. “Is it a bird? Do I get to see an alien bird?”

“It’s frogs,” said Din. “These ponds are full of singing frogs. Some of them chirp, some of them beep and some of them trill. I had time to sit and listen while I was waiting for the bounty to surface. He could hold his breath for forty-five minutes at a time.”

“I can’t see any frogs.”

“You need to crouch down near the water and wait. Just let your eyes go back and forth in a slow sweep. Sooner or later you’ll spot one moving.” Din demonstrated and Cobb squatted beside him, feeling his bootheels sink deeper into the squishy ground. “They inflate their throats. Looks like a little balloon blowing up.”

Cobb watched the closest pond. It was surrounded by small grassy and reedy plants and where its surface wasn’t silvery with splashing water it was covered by large round leaves of some plant that must grow in the water itself. He’d always heard deep water was blue but below the surface this seemed to be brown. Everything around them was green and brown, with just a few touches of pink and yellow on flowering plants. You got a lot of brown on Tatooine, of course, but it was reddish or yellowish brown, not a deep dark brown like this, like Din’s eyes. Maybe he should be thinking more of frogs than of Din’s eyes, which he could see all the time at home. The water pattered on his head and body endlessly, like countless little cold drumming fingers. Abruptly his own eyes caught a movement, he blinked and focused on it properly, and there it was, a little sleek green and yellow creature with big bulbous golden eyes, sitting on a round leaf like a platform and puffing out its throat just like a bubble, then gradually deflating it as it chirped. “Found one,” he whispered, nudged Din with his elbow and pointed it out. 

“I got two more under that hanging cattail,” Din replied, nodding in that direction. 

“Oh yeah, I see ‘em now!”

Din sighed. “Grogu loved frogs.”

“I guess they are kinda cute, in a bug-eyed way.”

“To eat.”

“Oh.”

“He was on his best behaviour when we visited you. He’d swallow a live frog whole if you let him.”

“That sweet little greenbean?” Cobb was a bit shocked. 

“Always hungry. Hope the Jedi’s feeding him enough. He’d have loved this place.” His head had tilted forward. Allowing for the fact that he was already crouching in the rain, he looked dejected. Cobb pushed his dripping hair back from his forehead and then took Din’s hand. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Maybe we’ll bring him here sometime. Let him eat all the frogs he wants, the little weirdo.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I mean, once you find ‘em you could always visit, right? Take him out for the day or something?”

“I don’t know if that would be allowed. Interrupting his training.”

“Everyone needs to take breaks. You focus on one thing too much, soon you’re good for nothing. Granted, I don’t know squat about Jedi business, but they can’t be that different from the rest of us mortals, right?”

“Being here with him and you would be pretty near perfect,” Din said quietly. “Perfect would be going home together afterward.”

“It’s too soon to think about any real decisions,” Cobb said carefully, “I’m just sorta floating the idea for maybe someday. You and me could give a good home to a kid. Another kid, if it couldn’t be Grogu. Or as well as him. Sad to say I don’t think there’s any shortage of spare children.”

“That’s true,” said Din, “but it is too soon for me to think about it.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay, I’m not in any hurry.”

“You would want that, though?”

“To have a family with you? Yeah. I never wanted that so much before I knew you. Being a dad just seemed like a nice idea. Abstract, you know? But when you were in the picture, when it was ‘being a dad together with Din,’ it got real and I knew I wanted it. I don’t know if that’s exactly normal.”

“I don’t care if it’s normal,” Din said, and squeezed his hand. “It makes me happy.”

“I sure never thought I’d have a heartfelt conversation about having a family with someone I love, squatting in the mud spotting frogs,” Cobb said, squeezing back. Then he shivered. 

“You getting cold?”

“That’s what happens, I guess. I’ve only ever been dry cold before. That was damn quick.”

“The water pulls the warmth out of you faster.”

“Pity, I was wondering what it’d be like to swim.”

“To drown more likely.”

“Fair point.”

“I’ll take you someplace warm next time. Right now, let’s get you dried off.”

By the time they reached the ramp again Cobb’s teeth were chattering. Din got him undressed briskly and rubbed him down with a towel. 

“What about you?”

“I didn’t get as wet. My suit’s not waterproof but it’s at least a little resistant. You, though, you’re wet to the skin and cold to the touch.”

“And my dick hasn’t been this small since puberty. What a bitch of a side effect.”

“It’ll come back. Get in bed, you’ll warm up faster.”

“Now we don’t get cold and  _ wet _ much on Tatooine,” Cobb said, scooting under the covers and feeling very glad that the blanket was heavy, “but we do get cold and I happen to know the recommended treatment is to have someone else in the bed with you. Preferably naked.”

“Oh, I know,” said Din. “Just getting you dried off first.” He sat down on the end of the bunk and started pulling his boots off.

“Good. Definitely need something hot in here. It doesn’t sound quite right hitting on you with my teeth chattering.” It was a relief when Din crawled in beside him and wrapped him up in his arms. His hands were cold but the press of their bodies, chest to chest with legs wrapped together, was immediately warming.

Din gave a hiss of discomfort. “Your feet are freezing.”

“Yep, and I’m gonna keep rubbing them on your leg till they’re warm.”

“I’m paying for bringing you here,” Din said, rubbing his back.

“Yes you are. Cute date ideas are dangerous.”

“Next time I’ll just take you to the cantina and get you drunk.”

“Hey?”

“Hmm?”

“You can’t hear it so well in here as in the cockpit, but I can still hear the rain. I do really like the rain sound. It’s like the opposite of a sandstorm. That sound just makes my brain feel raw.”

“Your teeth stopped chattering.”

“You’re doing a good job warming me up. Hey, were you serious about never learning to wink?”

“Why would people who keep their faces covered all the time use winking?”

“I guess — but you know how to smile and everything.”

“It’s different. A wink isn’t expressing an emotion, it’s sending a message.” Din was quiet for a moment. “I’ve wondered sometimes if  _ real _ Mandalorians make faces like smiles and frowns. If maybe I only did it because I grew up in another culture for a few years before I was adopted. I never really wanted to ask anyone in case they said ‘Of course I don’t, you mean you still do?’”

“If that’s so, I’m glad you still do. You’ve got the sweetest smile I’ve seen. And you know, you could try winking. Just between you and me.”

“What’s the point of winking at someone when you’re alone with them? Isn’t it like a covert signal you use in front of other people?”

“It’d look cute. You also use it to flirt.”

“I don’t need to flirt with you, I already have you in bed with me,” Din said with a trace of a smile that could almost, if you looked hard, be considered cocky.

“Never hurts to make an effort.”

“If you’d like it, I’ll try.” Din gazed at him seriously and blinked, rather deliberately. It took Cobb a moment.

“Babe, you just — you just winked with both eyes. Pick one.”

“I thought I did.”

“Try again.”

This time he managed to close one eye slightly before the other, but he still shut both of them. “Did I do it?”

Cobb couldn’t help grinning. “Can’t you feel you didn’t?”

“I’m trying here.”

“Like this.” He winked.

“It looks great when  _ you _ do it.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Can you just be the winking, flirting one, and I’ll be the quietly grateful one?”

“I have known you to flirt with me. Hey, I’ve been wondering. Is this a flirt?” He pressed his forehead gently to Din’s. 

“Not necessarily.”

“Is it a Mando thing or a Din thing?”

“Both. What it means depends on the person you do it with, but it’s always a way of being close to them. You share a breath together, like the breath of life. It can be a way to greet someone, to show respect, to acknowledge the culture we share… it can be a way to show love.”

“So it’s like a kiss?”

“It can be. It is when I do it with you.”

“Thank you.”

“You like it?”

“Of course. If I didn’t I would’ve said something.”

“You’ve just never told me you don’t like anything I do.”

“Because so far I love everything you do. I mean… could be that’s the whole honeymoon glow. Maybe in a few more months you’ll be driving me crazy with your little habits and quirks.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be the way you tap your toothbrush on the sink when you’re done, or the way you always hold a cup of coffee with your hand around the cup and don’t use the handle. Right now those are just little thing where I think ‘oh neat, that’s what he does!’”

“Or on my side, the way you get into bed with your socks on and push them off during the night so there are always at least three lost rolled-up socks in the bottom of the bed?”

“Now it sounds like that’s annoying you a tiny bit already.”

“I just don’t understand it. Wear socks in bed or don’t.”

“My feet are cold before I fall asleep, then I wake up in the night and they’re hot. Perfectly simple.”

“Oh.”

“But for you I could kick ‘em out of the bed so we always have rolled-up socks on the floor instead of contained under the covers.”

“I think I’ll let that go.”

“Wise man.” Cobb smiled, then laughed because Din made another attempt at a wink and still couldn’t do it. 

“Dank farrik.” It made him laugh too, though, so he presumably wasn’t too humiliated. 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’, you do everything else so good it doesn’t matter at all.” He fished one arm out from under the covers and stroked Din’s hair. 

“Except I hold a coffee cup funny,” he said with a small smile. 

“I didn’t say funny. Individual.”

“I just like how it feels better.”

“Perfectly good reason.”

“Don’t let your arm get cold again.”

“Oh, I’m nice and warm now. Feeling much better.”

“Stay put a while longer. Sometimes you start feeling warmed up before you’re warmed through, then you crash.”

“Oh me oh my, what could ever persuade me to stay right where I am bundled up in bed with all this?” Cobb wrapped his arm back around Din’s waist. “You know, sometimes I think you forget I didn’t just fall in love with you, like in a sweet romancey way, I looked at you and thought ‘I want that man to  _ fuck _ me.’ Because you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You still hadn’t actually seen me,” Din pointed out, but he looked happy.

“Didn’t matter, did it? Listen, you ended up wanting to show me your face. I  _ love _ your face. But if you’d said ‘Cobb, I do want to be with you but I won’t ever show you that,’ I would’ve said ‘Okay’ and still felt lucky. Sound, touch, taste and smell all agree you’re hot, sight doesn’t even have the deciding vote.” 

“I feel a little bad that I went so much on looks.”

“I’d like to think if I’d been an asshole my looks wouldn’t have got me anywhere.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t.”

“You’d’ve kicked my ass and taken Boba’s armour.”

“Yes.”

“See, things definitely worked out better for my ass this way.”

“You’re saying ‘ass’ an awful lot.”

“It’s a real subtle hint,” Cobb said, and winked. “The bunk’s only half broken in. And I bet this ship has a good first-aid kit, and I know for a fact bacta gel makes decent lube.”

“Wouldn’t it make you numb?”

“It soothes pain, doesn’t affect pleasure. It feels a little squishier than I like, but it works. You want to go get it, or should I?” 

“I’ll get it,” Din said quickly. He scrambled out of bed and, to Cobb’s amusement, rummaged in the cast-off clothes on the floor and pulled on his underwear. 

“We’re inside your ship, with the doors shut, in the middle of nowhere, on a little planet that doesn’t even have people on this half of it, but you’re going to put something on?”

“Wouldn’t you feel weird walking around completely naked?” Din asked.

“You’ve seen me do it at home.”

“We’re not at home.”

“Home away from home,” Cobb said. 

“Well, I…” Din shrugged and actually pulled off a wink, then padded away barefoot. 

“That’s not really a wink moment, but it was cute,” Cobb called after him. He lay back smiling at the low ceiling. The rain was still drumming and whooshing on the hull, beautiful sound.  _ So I hate the feel of rain but I love the sound. The smell was good too, now I think of it. And all the little frogs chirping and beeping, I’m gonna remember them. Even if we get to bring the kid back here and he eats ‘em. Unusual little family holiday to say the least.  _

Din had earlier ascertained that the first aid kit lived in the bathroom, which was where he would have chosen to keep it. He’d wondered at the time how much the set-up reflected what Boba thought was important in a ship and how much was just how it came off the lot. He hadn’t actually opened the first aid kit before, and now he was wondering whether Boba expected him to get hurt an awful lot or whether he had picked a kit based on his own experiences. There was enough bacta in here to fill a small tub if you had to; there were several three-litre jugs of it stored behind the box with the main kit in it, and that held all kinds of medical gear some of which he’d have to read the instructions for before even knowing what it was meant to do. He thought it would probably make Cobb laugh if he brought one of those jugs back to the cabin and plunked it down on the bed and he liked the idea of that, but after the initial laugh it would just be in their way so he took one of the small tubes from the kit. If Boba had been planning for a major medical emergency, hopefully he wouldn’t mind the supplies also being used for a minor sex emergency. 

He paused closing the cabinet because he realised just then that he hadn’t said anything to Boba about why he and Cobb had come to see him together. He was fairly sure from his references to “your mate” that Boba thought they were friends, which they certainly were, he’d never had a friend he liked more than Cobb, but maybe it would have been a good idea to mention the rest of their relationship. Words like “mate” and “partner” didn’t help the matter by being ambiguous, and he’d feel like a fool at his age describing someone Cobb’s age as his boyfriend, and would also feel like a fool telling someone as gruff as Boba “I’m in love with him,” but he should probably try to clear that up just in case it mattered later. On the other hand maybe Boba would just figure it out the way everyone at home had. Apparently his love for Cobb was visible even if he didn’t say anything. That was a nice thought, and so was getting back to him right now. 

Cobb welcomed him back with open arms, sitting up to kiss him eagerly. “What took you so long?” he asked.

“What was it, two minutes?”

“Yeah, two whole minutes. I think I got three new grey hairs.”

“So you got slightly more handsome,” Din said, nudging him down to lie on his back and crawling over him. 

“Dang, I taught you to wink and you got  _ aggressively _ smooth.”

“Oh, is that the type of thing I should wink when I say?” He was enjoying the way Cobb was scruffing his fingers through his hair while he kissed him, ruffling it up so he must look anything but smooth.

“Still not quite. You’ll get it. I’ll be proud of you when you do.”

“Best reason to do anything,” Din sighed, and shifted to kiss his neck. He began at the front, naturally, since it was presented to him with Cobb’s chin tipped up, but worked to the side and followed over to the nape as Cobb rolled to lie on his front, giving it a gentle nip that made Cobb breathe in sharply. “That good?”

“Mmm… so nice.” Cobb got comfortable, both hands holding the pillow under his head, his thumbs working in the way Din had observed meant he was relaxed but excited, the restless energy coming out in his hands. “Go slowly, baby… not  _ too _ slow… but you know…”

“I know,” Din murmured. “Like this?” He worked his way down Cobb’s back, rubbing and kissing, feeling his muscles tense and relax and his warm skin grow even warmer. He was gently sweating, and beginning to hitch his hips against the mattress under them. At one point he lifted up to rearrange, getting his stiffening cock settled comfortably under him, and gave a pleasurable little wriggle of his butt as he lay back down. 

“Another subtle hint?”

“It just feels good.” 

“Does this?” He shuffled back and squeezed Cobb’s buttocks.

“Yes, you know it.” He gave a deep, soft sigh as Din squeezed gel between them and spread it into the cleft with his thumbs, pressing them apart and exposing the small soft opening, flushed and twitching a little. Cobb spread his legs wider and murmured, “Come on in, darlin’, this is for you.”

“I see what you mean about feeling squishy.” He might have used too much, but it would spread.

“Yeah, it’s thicker than our usual stuff. Ooh…” He tilted his hips back as Din slipped a fingertip in. Only one side of Cobb’s face was visible, but he could see how his eyes closed and he briefly bit his lower lip in delight. “Oh, that feels so nice and dirty. Open me up, baby, give me those slick fingers, that’s just right. I’ll come so hard for you.” With two fingers well inside, he was humping the bed eagerly. 

“Slow down,” Din told him, and kissed his back between the shoulder blades, making them squirm. 

“I don’t have to slow down. Who says, huh? Who’s the deputy here?”

“You’re on my ship.”

“Oh, so  _ you’re _ pulling rank.” He gave a little shudder of pleasure, pushing back on Din’s fingers.  _ “You _ tell people what to do.”

“I can’t really tell you anything, just think you might like to enjoy it for longer.”

“I’ll enjoy it so much once you’re inside me. Show me how much.”

“Let me just…” He pressed his cock into the cleft and slid it up and down, feeling the squish of the gel and getting it thoroughly slippery. Cobb squeezed him between his buttocks and chuckled at the way his hips jerked. “Okay okay. Oh, yes.” He slid in slowly, feeling the snug, warm passage part and stretch to hold him, and the firm squeeze of the rim reaching the base of his cock as he bottomed out, pushing a moan out of Cobb. “Did I get the right place?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cobb groaned. “Grind on it. Slow and hard.” He whimpered, his back shuddering, and Din nuzzled into the nap of his neck as he ground against his buttocks. His heart was thumping, and he slide his arms under Cobb’s chest to embrace him. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against Cobb’s shoulder, getting his knees dug into the mattress ready to thrust.

“Love you,” Cobb sighed. 

“Mmph…” He began rocking his hips, feeling Cobb push back, then work into rhythm with him, pumping steadily, hot and hard. He  _ liked _ the squishier feeling, even if it was probably a waste to use bacta this way when you had alternatives — but they didn’t so he was just enjoying it. It felt thick and lush around his cock and Cobb was making rough, greedy sounds low in his throat, getting louder as their pace gradually quickened.  _ I’m making him feel  _ so _ good. I belong here and he, oh, he belongs to me. This is  _ my _ precious man who’s given himself to me, so freely…  _ For just a moment the thought of how  _ generous _ Cobb was to him, with his home, with his body, with his love, gripped his heart.

“Here, please.” Cobb was lifting his body, pulling Din’s hand down from his chest and under his belly.

“Here?” He slid his hand to squeeze Cobb’s cock, pulling up to cover the tip and back down, feeling how heavily it was leaking, slick wetness pooling in his palm.

“Nngh!” Cobb thrust into his hand, gasping, and cried out, “Din! Oh Din, babe, fuck me!  _ Fuck _ me!”

He wanted to say  _ something _ that would make Cobb feel what he felt when he heard that, but he was lost for words, could only obey and  _ fuck _ feverishly into his clenching, quivering ass until stars burst in his head and his belly and his groin and everything was wet and hot and gushing.

He gradually rolled to a stop, a last few deep, slow grinds of his hips as if to wring out every drop of pleasure and the deep sweet warm peace expanding through his body. He rolled back onto his side, pulling Cobb with him so they could nestle like spoons. Cobb was breathing hard and his heart was still pounding; Din could feel it with one hand still pressed to his chest. 

“Mmm…” Cobb slid his hand up to cover and squeeze Din’s. “Bunk’s all broken in. Came on it. That’s final.” 

Din kissed his shoulder. “You know I don’t…  _ talk… _ well when…” 

“Hmm?”

“I want to say things like you can, but then I can’t think.” 

“What do you want to say, darlin’?”

“Should I call you darling too?”

“You can call me darlin’, darlin’.” Cobb chuckled weakly. “You can call me whatever you want. Is there a Mando word like that?”

“There are some, but they don’t fit you.”

“Hmm, well… there’s… there’s darlin’, dear, baby, sweetheart, sweetie, honey… not sure they fit me either. Used to have a boyfriend who called me puppy, that was cute, but we had a bad break-up, don’t really wanna reuse it.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would want to break up with you,” Din said, with feeling. 

Cobb chuckled again. “His family hated me and I wasn’t too keen on them either. Thought I was trashy. He kept saying he didn’t care ‘cause he loved me, but anytime we were gonna see them he was always askin’ me to tone it down, and I was like, tone  _ what _ down? My voice, my face, my life story? You know your puppy’s a mutt, right? He picked them in the end. I don’t altogether blame him. I didn’t have a family to pull on me, I don’t know what it’s like.” He pulled off Din’s softening cock and rolled over to face him, stroking his cheek, pushing his hair back over his temple. “But you don’t need to call me a special name for me to feel you love me. You just need to look at me like you’re doing now.”

Din kissed him softly. “I said I love you too.”

“I know, baby. So I heard it and I felt it, and I see it too.” He kissed him again, pressed his forehead to Din’s and breathed in deeply. “Taste it and smell it.”

“What does my love smell like?”

“A sweaty guy who still has slight ration-pack breath. That’s how I know it’s love; smells good to me.”

“Now I think about it, we say ‘I’m proud of you’ more than ‘I love you,’ don’t we?”

“Works exactly the same for me.”

“I like that.” He winked at him, in case it was appropriate now, and Cobb laughed. 

“Back to both eyes?” he asked.

“I thought I was doing it right now!” Din let his head flop on the pillow. “It feels the same.”

“Love you for trying, babe.”

“I’ll keep trying… babe.” That might work. He slipped his hand behind Cobb’s head to stroke the nape of his neck. He felt drowsy and calm. He was in love and loved. There was still so much that wasn’t right, but it wasn’t with him here and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The great challenge of writing Cobb Vanth is to give his dialogue a pleasantly cowboyish flavour without just making it massively corny (pun). This is especially difficult to do when you're not even American, let alone from the West or Southwest where you could actually be first-hand familiar with appropriate dialects. The great challenge of writing Boba Fett, other than having no idea what he's up to and thinking it's funny to take the title "The Book of Boba Fett" rather literally, is reining in my desire to make his dialogue entirely too Kiwi. I'm a New Zealander so that _is_ actually familiar to me, and I have a massive, _massive_ soft spot for Space New Zealanders (roll call! Jango and Boba Fett! Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton-Smythe from _Voltron: Legendary Defender!_ Bobbie Draper from _The Expanse!_ Topaz from _Thor Ragnarok!_ ) - there's just something about hearing our flat-ass accent in a science fiction context that makes my heart sing, because normally EVERYONE in _Star Wars_ and most other sci-fi for that matter is either middle-of-the-road American or Posh English. For the same reason I treasure the unexpected Space Scotsman in _The Force Awakens._ Tell that to Kanjiklub.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is equal parts domestic fluff and domestic smut, with just a dash of "make up backstory for Cobb because lbr I'm too slothful to read the book he's from."

Mos Pelgo was not a smoking ruin when they returned, so that was nice. As Din brought the ship in to land, Cobb took a critical look at the town from the air. 

“It looks  _ temporary,” _ he said. “Don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” said Din. “I assumed you all have surface houses because of the dragon.”

“Bingo. Nothing ruins a nice traditional Tatooine dugout homestead like a giant worm tunnelling straight through it. But that’s not a problem any more, so why should we keep living like it is, huh?”

“You want to dig us a house?” Din asked. 

“Maybe not straight away. There’s gonna be a lot going on, by the sounds of it. I’m going to talk to folks about it, though. We should start thinking about ways to make our little town feel more substantial.”

“It’s a nice idea.”

“Yeah? You’d like to build a little womp rat burrow with me?” Cobb asked, smiling. 

“As long as you promise not to call us womp rats again.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Did you live in an underground house as a kid, and is that why you like a completely dark room to sleep in?”

“Bingo again.” It was nice to be figured out that way.

Din nodded. “Mudhorns live in burrows too.”

“Are they nice? Cosy?”

“No, they’re slimy and disgusting. The only place I’ve been that grossed me out more than a mudhorn’s burrow was a krayt dragon’s throat.” He landed the ship neatly behind Cobb’s house, sending puffs of sand swirling away. 

“And  _ you’ve _ been to Jabba’s palace,” said Cobb with a smirk. “So you know gross.”

“I don’t want to pry, but if you want to talk about what happened to you there I’d listen,” Din said quietly. “I know you get nightmares, and…”

Cobb felt a small tightness in his chest. He didn’t  _ want _ to talk about it but he also didn’t want to  _ refuse _ to talk about it. He didn’t have to decide right then, though, because the comms system chimed with a transmission from offworld.  _ Marshal Cara Dune — Nevarro — to Din Djarin — Tatooine, _ the screen said. Cobb hadn’t intentionally read it, had just seen the words when the chime called his attention, and his eyebrows popped up at the name Djarin. So Din  _ did _ have another name. Was there some important Mandalorian reason why he hadn’t mentioned it, or was it the opposite, that he didn’t think it was important at all? Djarin. Not a familiar name to him, but it looked nice together with Din. “Do you mind if I get this?” Din asked him.

“Go ahead, babe. Should I step out?” He didn’t much  _ want _ Din to have private calls from people he didn’t know but he wasn’t going to be a jerk about it if he did.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Din touched the console and the holo image came up of a dark-haired woman with a pretty, rounded face and impressively massive shoulders. 

“There you are,” she said, sounding relieved. “Fett just got in touch and gave me your new comms code. I was starting to wonder if I should take leave and come check on you. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Din said, sounding mildly surprised by her concern. 

“We weren’t expecting you to go silent on us for weeks. Karga’s been bugging me to do something, but I said you needed some space. Was I right?”

“Yes and no. I haven’t been alone. But I appreciate you giving me time.”

“I didn’t let him get on the call because, fair warning, when you do see him he’s going to complain about you giving up the baby. I’ve told him not to be an ass, that it hurt you more than anyone, but he’s acting like a grieving grandpa. Just ignore him, okay?”

“Okay,” said Din. He spoke up again, sounding hesitant but eager too. “Hey, I want to introduce someone.”

“Sure.”

Din tilted the viewer towards Cobb, who got caught trying to smooth his hair back and look more presentable. He cleared his throat. “Howdy.”  _ Why in hell did I say howdy? I sound like a hick.  _ He suddenly realised he was really intimidated by Cara Dune. She was officially, legally a marshal, she had been Din’s friend far longer than he had, she was a survivor of something worse than he could imagine, and she looked like she could snap him like a twig. 

“This is Cobb Vanth,” Din was saying. “He’s the marshal here in Mos Pelgo.”

“Self-appointed,” said Cobb, then wondered why he’d said  _ that. _ Was he trying to look incompetent?

“Good to meet you,” said Cara. “I know things aren’t easy on Tatooine. Anyone who steps up to keep the peace is doing a good thing. Did you want to talk about working with the New Republic?”

“I wanted you to meet him,” Din said, turning the viewer back to himself, “because he’s — he’s important to me. And you’re important to me. You’re my friend,” he added, sounding tremendously awkward.

“Back at you,” said Cara with a hint of a smile. 

“But I mean,” Din said, digging himself deeper, “Cobb is my partner now. And I’m his. And his deputy too, but that’s different.” He stopped and took a breath. “I mean we’re living together. Because we’re…”

“She gets it, babe,” Cobb said gently. He’d been awkward about it himself but he reserved the right to think Din’s shyness was pretty adorable.

“Congratulations,” said Cara, with more than a hint of a smile this time. “You want me to tell Karga, or save it for when you see him?”

“Would you?” Din asked quickly. 

“Because you’ll fight anyone alive, but  _ conversations, eesh,” _ she said sympathetically. 

“Not every conversation.”

“It’s nice to see you landed on your feet. I have to say, the new job’s a surprise.”

“I just sort of fell into it. Cobb needed the help and I was happy to do it.”

“The likes of us,” she said, “keeping the peace and enforcing the law? That’s more surprising than you suddenly having a boyfriend. Hope he looks after you.”

“He does,” Din said with conviction. 

“Good. Listen, the other reason I called, other than checking you’re okay, is to ask if your account got credited with the Republic bounty for Gideon. You may want to transfer a share to Fett. It seems his registration with the guild has lapsed and they’re not sure they have his current details. Whether you split it with him or not, it’s a lot of money.”

“I… completely forgot about that,” Din said. “What about everyone else?”

“Fennec’s got a bounty on her too, so I never saw her. I’m guessing if she and Boba are still together he can give her a share once you give it to him. Marshals don’t get bounties, and Bo-Katan and her team disappeared leaving no codes or co-ordinates. I figure their payday was that Imp cruiser and everything on it. That’s all.”

“I haven’t checked,” said Din, sounding a little vague. “I’ve been busy here. I don’t even know what to do with a lot of money right now.”

“Well, you have time to think about it, it’s not going anywhere. Check and let me know if there’s any problem. And keep in touch, okay? Not just if there’s a problem. I’ll try to as well. Not that it comes naturally, but it beats being all staunch and lonely.” 

“I will.”

“Bye for now.” Her image blinked out. 

Din sat back in his chair. Cobb could hear him exhale slowly. 

“So are you rich now?” Cobb asked. 

“I’m… pretty cashed up.”

“Well, remember I started talking about building a house together  _ before _ I knew that,” he said with a quick smile. 

“I came back here feeling like I’d lost everything, so I never thought about whether I’d got paid. And Boba just gave me this ship. I don’t  _ need _ anything.”

“It seems like Lady Luck just noticed you’d had a rough run lately and decided to catch up.”

“It doesn’t help,” Din said, getting up abruptly and leaving the cockpit. 

“Babe?” Cobb got up and followed him, but he was walking fast. He started down the landing ramp before it was fully lowered, jumped down the last few inches and headed off towards the dunes. Cobb sighed, but he was pretty used to this by now. He just needed to walk it off. Better to have a man who took off to calm down than one who lost his temper and blew up, he supposed. It was just the suddenness of it that was disconcerting. He went into the house through the back door and got a cold drink, before wandering through making sure everything was still as it should be. It was apart from the scattering of sand that always blew into the front entrance no matter what you did, so he swept that up and threw it outside, then stepped out himself to sit on the steps with his drink and take the air while showing his face and being available to anyone who felt the need of him. 

He got a range of good-natured greetings and acknowledgements that he’d been away longer than expected. He agreed that he had and told assorted people about the side trip to see the frogs, which was received with varying levels of enthusiasm ranging from “well, you don’t need to bother doing  _ that _ again” to “if you go again can I come too?”

There was also an occasional “Will the deputy be leaving us, then?” or so. He answered those firmly; no, his deputy was very happy where he was and had no plans to leave. He hoped it was true about “very happy.” Very happy for the most part. Very happy as long as he didn’t think too hard about his broken heart. It was a little discouraging. He could  _ make _ Din incredibly happy, at least physically, for the short term. He knew better than to think that should make everything okay, but it reminded him how little power he had to actually make things okay for him. Even people who could give him large sums of money and shiny new spaceships couldn’t do that. 

He was putting some lunch together when Din came in at the kitchen door. He made sure it was securely shut behind him, then took off his helmet and scruffed the fingers of his free hand through his hair, before actually looking at Cobb. 

“Sorry about before,” he said. 

“That’s okay. I didn’t take offence. You feeling better?”

Din came up behind him and rested his chin on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Cobb’s waist. “Can I help?” he asked. 

“I’m just about done,” Cobb said, pushing the eggs around the skillet. It was a sort of scramble of those and assorted leftovers that he wanted to get out of the fridge before they went bad. “Smells better than ration packs, right?” He felt Din’s chin move as he nodded. It felt nice to be hugged for comfort like this, even if it got in his way slightly while cooking. “Go wash your hands,” he said, then wondered if he sounded too parental, if Din would be annoyed to be treated like a child, but he went and did it without complaint, and they sat down to eat together. 

“So,” said Cobb after a few minutes’ quiet eating, “now I’ve met Boba and Peli, and practically met Cara. Not bad.”

“The thing is,” said Din suddenly, as if he was answering a point Cobb had tried to make only in his own mind, “people who say money isn’t important are wrong. You only need to run out of money to know that. I’ve always been able to earn more but I’ve been caught short, I’ve had to choose between food and medicine for me and fueling or repairing the ship so I can get to somewhere better, I’ve made do with broken-down old gear that I couldn’t afford to replace even when it was dangerous. I’m not being one of those people.”

“Never thought you would be,” said Cobb. 

“It’s just,” said Din, and stopped. 

“Yeah?”

“Once you’ve got all your practical needs, once you have a place to live, food, water, clothes, medicine…  _ after _ that… today it just really hit me how meaningless more money is on top of that and how galling it feels to have it drop into your lap when… I  _ know _ I’m being unreasonable and ungrateful.”

“Ah,” said Cobb. “That doesn’t sound too horrible to me.”

“If it was a story it would look like these were my rewards for doing the right thing,” Din said. He sounded agitated. “And so the — the good Mandalorian completed his quest, won the magic sword and became the leader of his people, and he received riches and gifts, and lived happily ever after to the end of his days. I  _ didn’t  _ do the right thing and I don’t  _ want _ any of it, I just want him back.”

“When you say you didn’t do the right thing,” Cobb asked carefully, “do you mean in a Creed way, or in a —” He stopped before saying human way. “A parental way?”

“A Creed way. Both. I don’t know. I have to put him first. He needs to be where he is now. I think. I think! I don’t know anything about Luke Skywalker except he’s a Jedi! What if he’s cruel to him? What if he’s not cruel but he just doesn’t love him? What if he makes up his mind he’s a bad kid and that’s that? Boba said they do that. Grogu can be  _ naughty,  _ but he’s not  _ bad! _ And where the hell is Bo-Katan, why can’t she hurry up and take this damn thing off my hands?” He stopped again, sitting back in his chair and folding one arm tightly across himself, covering his mouth with his other hand, fidgeting at his moustache. 

“Babe, if you want to go find him, I will do everything I can to help you. If you want to track down Bo-Katan, the same. I will do whatever you need me to do. I’m yours to command. I just — I can’t  _ tell _ you what to do about any of this.”

Din sighed and rubbed both his hands over his face. “You’re the only part I want,” he said. “The only part that feels like a reward. And I got you by doing the wrong thing too.”

“I think a dragonslayer’s supposed to win the hand of a princess, not a marshal,” Cobb said with a little smile. 

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a princess,” said Din. “Too fancy for the likes of me.”

“You don’t have to take any money if you don’t want to,” Cobb pointed out. “You can give it all to Boba if you feel better that way. Or give him his and Fennec’s share and give yours to a charity. If you can’t find the Watch, there are other places that take in orphans. Or heck, spend it here in town, buy new computers for the school maybe, build a town hall. If the money’s a burden there’s always people who’ll take it off your hands.”

“Thanks for not being sarcastic about it,” Din said with half a smile. 

“Well, I am and I’m not. Just so long as you don’t throw it away thoughtlessly, you know.”

“I should save the money,” Din said. “For us. For whatever the future brings. Maybe one day we will have Grogu again, or maybe it’ll be a different child, like you said. I’ll save it and see. After giving Boba and Fennec theirs.” He ate a little more of his lunch, though it must be getting cold and rubbery by now; Cobb’s certainly was. He watched him thoughtfully, wishing he knew how to advise anyone on Jedi custody issues or Mandalorian sword politics. “Go kick as much ass as necessary to get your kid back” and “Tell her to go pound sand if you living your own life doesn’t fit in with her mystery schedule” weren’t diplomatic suggestions. Both Luke Skywalker and Bo-Katan Kryze were clearly extremely dangerous people to piss off. The fact that both he and Din could be too didn’t mean they should be cavalier about it. 

It occurred to him that if it was ever necessary to fight Skywalker to recover Grogu, it would help a lot for Din to still have the Darksaber. Wouldn’t it? Was a darksaber effective against a lightsaber or would they cancel each other out? Tap their blades together and they both went kaput and then you had to fistfight? He’d never actually seen either in action, only heard Din try to describe them. He was curious as hell about what the Darksaber looked like, it sounded immensely cool, but asking to see it when Din was so unhappy to have it seemed heartless. 

“I think that’s a good call,” he said. “You want to make a patrol this afternoon? Give my new armour its first outing, check the jetpack works?”

Din nodded. “I’d like to help you do that.”

“I know I can count on you, partner.”

That night they lay spooning on the couch listening to the radio and hearing the wind rise, cutting through the thin, tinny music making its way to them from far off. 

“I’ve been to another planet now,” Cobb said thoughtfully, “but Mos Espa or Anchorhead can seem even farther away when you think of being cut off by a sandstorm.”

“You think one is coming?” Din asked. “The weather forecast didn’t sound sure.”

“You get a feeling for it,” said Cobb. “I hate the things so much.” He shifted uneasily in Din’s arms. “Should warn you that the nightmares get worse during a big sandstorm. I don’t know why. It’d make sense if I could say I was once stuck in a sandstorm and this and that horrible thing happened and the sound of the wind howling and the sand scouring the house brings it all back, but I don’t remember anything like that. I think it’s just the feeling of being trapped.”

“It’s okay,” Din said quietly. “I’ll take care of you.” His arms tightened gently around Cobb’s waist, then relaxed. 

“You asked me before about what happened to me at Jabba’s palace. It’s not so much what happened as that I knew the whole time I was there that anything  _ could  _ happen and I couldn’t stop it. That was… that was a lot of my life. You know, when I go back over it, a lot  _ didn’t _ happen to me, I’m lucky in a lot of ways… but living always with your powerlessness, especially when you’re real young, that does a number on you.”

“It wasn’t quite the same for me,” Din said, “but I’ve felt that too.”

“Yeah, but you got adopted by people who brought you up badass,” Cobb said, trying to laugh. “Wish I’d had that!” Then he felt ashamed for saying it. “My daddy was a gentle soul, and he had a bum leg and back problems, and fighting back or running away just wasn’t something you could fairly expect of him. He had a lot of courage but it was the kind of courage that  _ endures _ things, you know?” Din nodded. “And when I was a kid and they took me away from him I was just trying to endure.” He stopped. “This isn’t easy to talk about.”

“No, I get that,” said Din. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to, when you want to.” 

“I want you to know about it and understand, but it’s the telling you that’s so hard.”

“I’ve definitely felt that too.”

“Well… I was pretty cute when I was ten —”

“Still are,” said Din loyally.

“Thanks, babe. I got sold off to be this little decorative house servant, and I was kind of like a pet. Then at thirteen I hit puberty like a brick wall and got real awkward, so I got sold again to be a kitchenhand. Then when I was seventeen apparently I got better looking and it was back out to being decorative, but by then I was pissed off and sulky and I hated every minute of it. After that was when I spent a little while at Jabba’s palace. Maybe when I was eighteen, nineteen? I’m pretty sure each time I got sold after that I went for a little less, allowing for inflation. Eventually I ended up in the mines, to be used up.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, knowing he was skipping over so much, but he just couldn’t have spelled it all out — the pain of being discarded when he’d tried desperately to heal his loneliness by getting attached to his first owners and had believed they were actually fond of him, the resentment and disgust of being picked up when he was consumable again, the constant fear of who might want to consume him and  _ how _ . All the hard-won relationships that had been torn apart when they were separated by a sale. Being treated like a thing, a decorative thing or a merely useful thing, still just a  _ thing. _

“Which was actually a better place for me. I don’t  _ like _ mining work but it doesn’t make you feel so… you know what, I was gonna say dirty but you get totally filthy. Then I was gonna say used but of course you’re being used. I felt more self-respect, anyway. I started getting difficult, talking back, running away, organising in secret with others. That was the making of me. And it was supposed to break me, so there you are, life’s funny like that.” He finished off with a light laugh, or tried to. He wished he could see Din’s face, but he was behind him. 

“Now you’re a free man,” Din said.

“I am.”

“And you free others and protect them.”

“Glad I can.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Another gentle squeeze. Cobb rolled over, awkwardly because he was trying not to fall off the seat of the couch, and hugged him tightly chest to chest, so very glad Din was just wearing his undershirt and he could feel all the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest and the soft pump of his heart. He closed his eyes tight. The wind subsided a little and the music on the radio came through more clearly, a soft lonesome tune with no words. 

It would have been so nice if the peace and comfort he felt in that moment had carried through and meant that he had no nightmares during the three-day sandstorm that followed and confined them to the house. It was a pity to think of what the sand would be doing to the bright new paint on the  _ Mudhorn. _ Hopefully she was too heavy to get bowled over by the wind. It was dark by day and by night, particularly with the storm shutters closed, and the noise never stopped and while they had enough to do to keep busy — one of the things he loved most about Din was the way the two of them could putter around for hours on end doing some little household chore or project, utterly, quietly contented in each other’s company — his nerves were raw and Din was clearly on edge too. During the first nightmare Cobb kicked him hard enough to leave a large bruise on his thigh, and the next night his thrashing hand gave him a black eye that puffed shut. 

“Oh no, oh no, people are gonna think I beat you,” he said in dismay when he saw it in the morning. 

“No, they’re not,” said Din. “How would they see it?” 

“Well, that’s true. Maybe you better sleep with your helmet on till this is over. I don’t want to hurt you, poor baby.” He fetched the chilled bacta gel from the icebox and dabbed it carefully over the purple skin. 

“If you let that warm up, we could do something else with it,” said Din hopefully, sitting up in bed to let Cobb attend to him.

“You’re kidding me. You want to screw when I’ve just given you that shiner?”

“It looks worse than it feels. I just went back to sleep after it happened.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I just can’t. I feel bad about your face, and with the noise, and the dream I had… I just can’t feel horny right now.”

“Oh. Okay, I understand,” said Din. It was the first time Cobb had turned him down and he looked a little crestfallen. “What if you couldn’t see the black eye? We could use the blindfold.”

“I’d still know it’s there.”

“It must look pretty bad.”

“Oh come off it, Din, I feel bad because I know I’ve hurt you. It’s not about how it looks at all.” He rolled out of bed. “I’m gonna put this back and get some breakfast going.”

It was a tense and unhappy day. It was dark all day, but not in the soothing way he liked. Din was obviously restraining himself from acting affectionate, as if he thought not wanting to have sex that morning meant Cobb couldn’t bear to be touched at all, but he just felt too weary and irritable to disabuse him of that notion and have a whole  _ talk _ about it. It was actually a relief not to be touched when he was feeling so prickly, but he didn’t want that to be because Din felt like he’d been too demanding. He wished it was a bigger house. There was nothing like being cooped up with someone to make you get all pissy about perfectly acceptable personal habits of his, like how damn  _ still _ Din sat. He wished the kriffing sandstorm would stop, or else that he could just hibernate and sleep through it completely. He fell into a doze on the couch after lunch and woke up thinking there was something on his chest and he was suffocating. He realised he had yelled. Din was nowhere to be seen and then the bathroom door bashed open and he rushed into the living room trying to zip up his pants. “What happened?”

“No — nothing. Had a bad dream. Ugh!” He thumped the back of the couch with his fist and sat up, dropping his head into his hands with his elbows on his knees. “I’m going crazy in here.”

“Would it help any to tell me what the dreams are about?” Din asked. 

“They’re all about the same thing. They’re about being trapped and helpless.”

Din sat down beside him. “You’re not helpless,” he said, and patted Cobb’s knee. “And you’re… well, you’re kind of trapped just now. But it can’t be forever. And if we had to, sure, it would be dangerous, but I bet we could make it to the ship out back and take off. I’ve managed in worse conditions. I don’t crash  _ that _ often.” He glanced sideways at Cobb, with a little glint in his eyes that made Cobb laugh and lean his head against Din’s shoulder. Some of the tension left him, at least. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’d just be going stir crazy by myself.”

“What would you do?”

“Reread every book I’ve got. Get drunk. Try to sleep through it. Hate myself for the hangovers. Keep drinking.” He touched the scar on his temple. “Did this to myself in a sandstorm. Got falling-down drunk and hit my head on the coffee table. Woke up with so much blood on me I thought I was dead.”

Din kissed the scar. “If me being here means you don’t do that to yourself, good.”

“You know I’m not a drunk. Not normally.”

“I know.”

“And it doesn’t get that bad every sandstorm.”

“Good.”

“I wish I hadn’t told you that.”

“Why?”

“You’ll just remember that and think  _ that’s  _ the real me, not the me who doesn’t fuck himself up on a regular basis. Or you,” he added, stroking Din’s cheek under the black eye remorsefully.

“But that’s the you I know. That’s the you I’m so proud of. That’s the you who’s with me right now.” Din stroked the back of Cobb’s neck with his thumb. “It was just an accident. You were fast asleep. And I’ll wear my helmet tonight so neither of us has to worry. Although if you break your hand hitting the helmet, that’ll be a pity.”

“Or serve me right,” said Cobb with a rueful grin. 

“No,” said Din, giving him a little shake. “You said you’d read. That doesn’t sound bad for you. Can you stand to reread your books again?”

Cobb thought about it. “Could you stand it if I read to you? It’d be a lot more interesting telling the story to someone who doesn’t know it yet.”

“Let’s see how I tolerate it,” said Din. So they lay on the couch, Din resting his head back against Cobb’s chest, and he tried reading to him from one of the pulp novels that made up his one-shelf library — hardboiled detectives and mystery women, deep-space drifters, lost and found royalty, a couple of deeply cheesy romances, all set far from the dull deserts of Tatooine. He picked one of the detective novels to start, set in the labyrinthine city of Coruscant. “Ever been there?” he asked Din.

“Never.”

“Good, then we can imagine it however we want and not worry whether we’re getting it right.”

It was nicer than he was expecting. It was always comfortable to have Din resting against him, and the too-familiar story was refreshed by needing to think about the words again to put some expression into them. Concentrating on that distracted him from the endless howling and roaring outside, at least partly. He wondered if Din had read to his kid, or told him stories, or sung to him, or simply held him quietly. His father hadn’t read to him for the simple reason that he couldn’t, much, and when Cobb had got the chance to learn he had instead read to him. That, more than anything, his father’s quiet interest and encouragement to go on, had helped him to get the hang of it. He felt the same quiet interest and encouragement coming from Din now, and his heart hurt with gratitude. His voice thickened up and he had to take a deep breath. 

“Hey,” said Din softly, tipping his head back to look at his face upside down. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Let’s see what happens next, huh?”

“I do kind of want to hear what’s become of Syndra.”

He finished the story in the evening, with the final rather unsatisfying twist, laid the book on Din’s chest and kissed the top of his head. “Thank you, darlin’, that passed the time very pleasantly.” Din made a small sound and jerked awake. “You slept through the end of it!” 

“Didn’t mean to,” Din mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You have a soothing voice.”

“There was a shootout. And you slept through it. I should’ve shouted pew! pew! next to your ear for the shots.” He wrapped his arm around Din and gave him a quick rough rub on the chest to wake him up properly, which made him give a sleepy chuckle. 

“Must be nearly dinner time,” Din said.

“Thereabouts.”

“I’m making it,” he said, sitting up and twisting round to kiss Cobb’s cheek before getting up.

“That’s a first.”

“Then it’s about time, don’t you think?”

While the storm outside roared and wailed, Din quietly, efficiently, much as Cobb would have expected from the way he did most things in the house, made them a green-cheese omelette. That finished the eggs and almost finished the cheese; they were getting low on fresh food, though there was plenty of dry and canned stuff in the pantry for the next few days. 

“Is it okay?” Din asked when they were at the table. Cobb had poured drinks for them in the two red glasses; one of the small pleasures of his life with Din was to use the good glasses every day. It was really supposed to be a full set, decanter and six glasses, but he’d found it in a junk shop with only two left and thought, “Well, that’ll do just fine for me and one special person.” It had just taken a couple years after that to find the person to match the glass. 

“It’s good! Though I find when you nail something the first time you cook it, the second time it sucks. Don’t be too disappointed if that happens, you’ll get it back.”

“But this one is good?”

“This one is  _ really _ good. How do you do that with your face?”

“I don’t do anything with my face. It just does things.”

“Well, when you get praised for a little thing like that, it glows. Not a big flashy glow. A little candlelight kind of glow. It’s the cutest dang thing. I’m grateful I get to see it, that’s all.”

“You must be feeling better if you’re sweet-talking me again.”

“Your eyes twinkle.”

“If you tell me that I’ll get self-conscious,” Din said quite seriously.

“Get used to it, pal, you live with me, you hear about it when you look good.”

Din paused as if composing a thought, then said, “If I adopted that policy for you, that’s all I would get to talk about.” 

“Someone’s angling to get laid tonight,” said Cobb, highly pleased. 

“Well, I understand if with the noise…” He made a vague motion with his fork.

“To hell with the noise. If I can’t ignore a noise and enjoy being with you, that’s on me.”

Din didn’t entirely stop smiling, but he grew more serious. “I don’t think so. It’s not your fault if something bothers you and if it bothers you, I don’t want to ignore it.”

“I think you can help me ignore it. Does it sound better that way?”

“Better.”

“We could do something special. Anything you’ve wanted to try that we haven’t done yet?” He hoped Din wasn’t going to ask for something highly energetic, but he deserved some kind of a treat, Cobb thought, and if he could get into it it really would help his state of mind. 

“I’ll think about it,” said Din. From the look of him Cobb was fairly sure he didn’t need to think of something, he had it in mind already but wanted to lead up to it. They finished dinner, and when Cobb was cleaning the dishes, Din repeated his little trick of coming up behind him to press against his back and hug him, but this time it was the mildly horny variation rather than the I-need-comfort version. It came with a kiss on the back of the neck and light but definite pressure against his ass. He responded with a sassy little wiggle of his hips and felt Din nudge forward.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” said Din. 

“This should be good.” 

“We’re usually like this, right?” He rubbed against Cobb’s butt, and he could feel his cock shift in his pants. 

“That’s right.”

“Okay, so…” He took a half-step back, took Cobb’s hand and turned him round, turned himself around in the same movement and leaned back against him. “What if we’re like this?”

“I didn’t know you could dance.” Cobb slid his hands to Din’s hips and pulled him closer.

“It’s kind of basic,” said Din. “As a variation.”

“Basic’s fine by me.”

“Well, I’m not complaining about the usual, I’ve just wondered a little.”

“Yes?” This could be interesting. 

“I don’t know how it feels the other way, and I’m curious.”

“Oh, that’s easy. We can switch, no problem.” He felt both a touch of relief that it was going to be something easy and comfortable and a prickle of guilt that he hadn’t offered it before now. He’d just been having such a good time taking it that, greedily, he’d decided he wasn’t going to mention switching until Din did. 

“But would you still enjoy that? Because what we’ve always done is great, and there’s no sense switching from something we both like to something you don’t care for and I don’t even know if I like,” Din said earnestly. 

“Relax, you’re just asking me to go from doing my favourite thing to doing my second favourite thing. And I guess I make it look like fun if you want to try it.”

“Fun isn’t the word. You look like you’re feeling something… well, deep. And special.”

“I am, darlin’, I’m feeling  _ you.”  _

“That was shameless,” said Din, not quite laughing but close to it. 

“Thank you. You know, fun isn’t the feeling, either. I do  _ have _ fun, but it’s more like… I don’t know, joy. I feel  _ joy _ when I feel you moving inside me. I hope you feel it too.” He rocked his hips gently, enjoying the firm press of Din’s buttocks. “You do have a really nice ass. It deserves more attention than I’ve been giving it.”

“You do squeeze it or slap it most days.”

“We’ll call that preliminary conditioning. Now, we don’t wanna rush. Got to get you ready nice and slow and gentle. It may hurt a little when you’re not used to it, but you’ll get comfortable just like I did.” He slid one hand down in front to palm Din’s cock through his pants, feeling it half-stiff. “Want me to show you now?”

“In the kitchen?” Din said, sounding a little startled.

“You’ve done me in the kitchen.”

“I know, but not for a first time.”

“No, and I wasn’t planning to. I want to take you to bed, be sweet to you and get you broken in right.” He slid the other hand to Din’s butt and gave it a squeeze. “All right?”

“Mhm.” Cobb noticed Din’s distracted tone and glanced at his face; his eyes were half closed and his lips half parted, and he was breathing just a bit more deeply than usual. 

“Well, this won’t be hard,” he said, smiling. “Time for bed, you think?”

“Dishes’ll wait,” Din said, nodding. He pushed off from Cobb, grabbed his hand and led him to the hall and through to the bedroom, where he turned and framed his face with his palms and kissed him deeply. “What do I do, babe?”

“Take your clothes off and lie down.” He was tickled to hear Din start to call him pet names; for a while he’d thought it just wasn’t in him. 

Din quickly dragged his undershirt off over his head, dropped his pants and underwear and kicked them off, then flopped down on the bed where Cobb had just pulled down the covers. He looked wonderful lying there, relaxed and eager and gazing up at Cobb as he undressed. He held up his arms to him as he climbed on the bed and pulled him down into another hungry kiss, his tongue teasing at Cobb’s lips before surging in. Cobb combed his fingers into Din’s hair and gently sucked his tongue, rocking his hips to rub his cock against Din’s belly. 

“Damn, you feel good. Tell me…”

“Mmm?”

“Thought about how you want to take it? I think for a first try it’s easiest lying down, but if you wanna be up on all fours or straddle me, you just say the word, okay?” He kept stroking his hair, and felt Din’s hands gliding up and down his back.

“Uh… well, if I sit down on it, I can control how far it goes in, right?”

“Right. But you know I won’t go any deeper than you want, right? You just talk to me, and if you say that’s enough, that’s where I stop.”

“I know. And you’ll use your fingers first.”

“Right. You looking forward to that?”

“Yeah, I am.” At least they’d done that plenty of times; Cobb would rub between Din’s buttocks while he blew him and slip at least the tip of one well-lubricated finger into his anus, which typically made him come inside of a minute, and he’d still never actually got as far as his prostate. He seemed to be so sensitive that any deeper or thicker penetration might be either the greatest pleasure of his life or overstimulating to the point of pain. 

“You can do it too. See what feels good and show me. How about we start there?”

After a little shuffling around they found a comfortable position on their sides, Cobb spooning Din as he lay with one knee raised. Outside the wind was making noises like lost souls, but it was getting easier to ignore. He wrapped his arms around Din and kissed his shoulder. “Want me to play with your ass a little bit?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do the honours.” He reached forward between Din’s legs, held out his hand and Din found the lube under the pillows and squeezed some over his fingers and into his palm. “Thank you, darlin’.” He wrapped his hand around Din’s cock and slid it gently up and down.

“That’s not my ass.”

“No, but it needs love too.” He drew his hand back to cup and lightly rub his balls, drawing a grunt and a puff out of Din, then further back to finger his perineum. 

“You wasted it,” Din sighed, but he started to rub his own slippery cock with a murmur of pleasure. 

“Give me some more, then.” He held out his hand and Din obliged. “There we go.” He brought his fingers back into the cleft and gave a gentle fingertip wiggle in behind Din’s balls. The murmur of pleasure grew into a purr and he rubbed slowly and smoothly up and down between that spot and his anus, twitching a bit as soon as it was touched. “That good?” he murmured, and kissed Din’s neck. 

“Mmhm. Weird too. All slippery.”

“Yeah, but you get to like that. Means good times are coming.”

“I know,” Din said with half a smile. “I’m just used to feeling it with my hand. And my cock.”

“Mmm.” He pressed his middle fingertip in, feeling the soft, tense puckered skin yield just a bit. “Remember to breathe, baby.” Din had caught his breath sharply and held it; he let it out in a rush as Cobb pushed a bit deeper, getting in to the base of his fingernail. Din’s snug hole twitched and tightened sharply, and he grunted. “It’s okay, darlin’, that’s hardly anything. Soon it’ll feel  _ so _ good. Just breathe.”

“I think I’m going to come already,” Din whimpered. “It’s too fast.”

“Think you might be imagining that.”

“What if I come and prove it?”

“That’d be fun.”

“That’d be pathetic.”

“It might help. You come and you get more relaxed. These tight little muscles could soften up. Wanna try?”

Din made an uncertain noise. He’d stopped moving his hand on his cock but he was still gripping it. Cobb looked over his shoulder and admired the deep dark pink of its head and the browner skin below. He pressed another soft, wet kiss into the axis of Din’s neck and shoulder, rolling his tongue against the skin. “I’m going to try,” Din said. “Just hold your finger still, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How far is it in, anyway?”

“Just to here,” said Cobb, showing him his other hand and tapping the base of the middle fingernail with his thumb. 

“You’re kidding me.”

“How far’d you think?”

“Past the first knuckle.”

“It’s so cute how sensitive you are.”

“Shut up,” Din sighed, and started rubbing himself fast. His ass tightened around Cobb’s fingertip and he moaned. 

“That’s good, right? You feel like you’re gonna come pretty hard?”

“Mmhm, mmhm.”

“Just imagine how it’ll feel with my whole finger. We haven’t even found your sweet spot yet. I can’t wait to tickle it.”

“Fff…”

“Are your balls pulling up, babe? Getting that nice tight here-it-comes-here-it-comes-here-it-comes feeling?” The answer was a sharp whimper, and Din’s hand worked frantically, his elbow jerking. “That’s right, that’s good, feel my finger right there and you come for me. Come for me. There you go! Very good.  _ So _ good.” Din’s face had flushed red, his eyes were shut tight and he gave little whimpering grunts as his cock spat and spilled thick white over his knuckles and onto the sheets. “Can you feel that? Can you feel you’re opening up? Can I come in deeper?” More whimpering, and Din nodded feverishly. “Here it is, isn’t that nice?” He slid his finger in deeper, first knuckle, second knuckle, feeling spasms around it.

“Stop stop stop,” Din breathed, and he did.

“You good? I can pull it back.”

“No, keep it right there.” Din lay there panting for a few minutes, the crimson flush gradually facing from his cheeks, his lips working at nothing. “Oh… Oh Cobb…”

“Mm?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle it. The whole thing.”

“That’s okay. This is just our first try.”

“But I  _ want _ it.”

_ “Good.” _ He kissed Din’s sweating cheek. “You want to try using your finger? Might be easier.”

“Uh-huh.” He reached between his legs with fingers streaked with lube and semen and rubbed near the entrance stretched by Cobb’s finger. 

“I’ll ease out and you ease in. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Mmhmm...”

“See, we’re training your sweet, tight little ass to love penetration a bit at a time. Each little bit is going to make it easier.”

Din stroked himself slowly, clearly striving to breathe steadily, as a few minutes more passed, Cobb kissing and nuzzling at his neck and shoulders. “How’m I doing?”

“You’re doing really good. You are.”

“Compared with your first time?”

“Don’t compare. You and me are different. My first time I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I figured it out fast, but yeah.”

“I feel tighter than you,” Din said thoughtfully. 

“Not surprising. I know how to relax into it. Hey, if you try just gently pushing out with your butt when you want to push in with your finger, see how that feels.”

“Like — uh.”

“Good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Play with it. Find out where you’re sensitive.”

“Everywhere. But — oh! Oh, I got it!” His eyes popped open and his face lit up. He gave a breathless chuckle. 

“Yeah?”

“Oh!” Din pumped his finger, bearing down on his just-discovered prostate, forgetting any hesitation about having something inside him. Cobb laughed, delighted, and kissed his cheek.

“You get it,” he said. “Fingerfuck it. Can’t stop, can you?”

Din was grunting, panting roughly, and he forced his ring finger in beside the middle one, yelped at the pain but kept pumping.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself, baby, it’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s okay. Doesn’t hurt now. I want to…” His mouth fell open and he moaned wordlessly. 

“Din,” said Cobb gently, and held his wrist. “You’re getting too rough and you’re gonna hurt yourself. I know it feels so good, but slow down.”

Din rocked his head back and whined faintly, his hand slowing. 

“Just look at that, you’ve already got two fingers in knuckle-deep, and you’re so horny. You’re doing great. You know I’m proud of you, right?”

Din gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, I do. It feels nice.”

“Let’s switch off finger duties, huh? There we go. Hey, I can feel the difference. You’re opening up real nice. Think maybe you can take more?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s okay. No hurry at all.” He wrapped his other arm around Din’s waist and stroked his belly, and rocked his fingers slowly against his prostate. He felt very soft and lush around his fingers, the rim of his anus stretching nicely. “You’ll need some time before you can come again anyway, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Din wet his lips with his tongue. “My cock’s  _ trying _ to be hard. It just… can’t quite.”

“You bounce back faster than I do. But you’re a little younger.”

“Not that much.”

“Wouldn’t want you if you were. Young is cute, but I need something more... substantial.” He circled his thumb and forefinger around Din’s cock and slid them up and down, even if he was soft; he could feel little surges at the base as the blood flow did its best. He rubbed his erection slowly against the small of Din’s back, smearing slick precum on his skin, and returned to kissing his neck, sucking and working with his tongue, nipping lightly with his teeth. “You’re just what I need… always what I need…”

Something hurled by the wind hit the wall of the house with a thump and startled them both, but made Cobb realise that he hadn’t been hearing the sandstorm for some time. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Pretend you were.” 

“Oh… no. What was that scary noise?” Din was not a good actor. 

“Nothing to worry about, you’re safe with me.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“But you know what?”

“Mm?”

“You jumped a little bit but you didn’t clamp down here.” He moved his fingers again, gently, and Din squirmed in response.

“I want to try it.”

“Try it?”

“Try taking your cock now.”

“Okay. Thank you, darlin’.” He kissed Din’s neck and held up his free hand. “Lube, please.” He slicked it over his cock and took a deep, slow breath. “I’m gonna ease it in a little, then you tell me when you’re ready for some more. The second you want me to stop or pull back, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay. Come on in.” Din glanced back at him over his shoulder, and he had no choice but to lean in and kiss his mouth for a long time. He slipped his fingers out and held Din’s buttocks apart, as well as he could when his fingers were this slippery, and pushed the tip of his cock in until Din’s rim hugged just under the head of it. He could feel it twitching and squeezing like crazy, and Din was gasping. 

“Is that okay? Are you okay, babe?”

“Hnhh…”

“Take a breath. Tell me if I need to pull back.”

_ “Don’t _ pull back,” Din growled. 

“How’s it feel?”

“Hurts a little. A little. But it’s… sss…”

“Satisfying?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

“Gimme your hand.” Din pulled it in front of him and pressed it on his cock, letting him feel how it was swelling again, getting harder still as he squeezed it and pulled. “And come in a little deeper. Come in — okay stop. Stop.” He was breathing rapidly, trying to steady himself, his hips twitching sharply. “We should’ve used bacta.”

“So it wouldn’t hurt?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s good to feel it all, though. Find your limits. Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I won’t go any deeper than you ask me to, remember that.”

“As if I’m going to be satisfied with halfway.”

“This isn’t quite halfway. Maybe a third?”

“You don’t  _ look _ this big.”

“I’m not, it’s just your first time. It’s okay, baby, you’re doing great, I promise. I can feel your heartbeat in your ass, can you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And your dick’s getting so hard. If I give you some attention here everything’s gonna feel better.” He squeezed and stroked, and Din moaned, pushing into his palm. 

“I wish you’d just push it right in.”

“You sure?” he asked, still stroking.

“Uh-huh.”

“We can still stop any time. Ready?”

“Yes, do it.”

“Here.” One long, smooth push until he bottomed out with Din’s cry echoing in his ears. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck! Yes.” 

“Take a minute and breathe.”

“I don’t  _ want _ a minute, I want you to fuck me.”

“Darlin’, I am so very glad you’ve come to that conclusion, but we’re taking a minute so you can catch your breath and so I don’t come straight up your ass right now.” It felt like he was wrapped up in hot oiled silk that was alive and flexing around him. He bit his lip and breathed deeply and felt Din gradually relaxing a little. “Babe?”

“Hnhh?”

“Does it  _ just _ hurt? Or is it starting to feel good too?”

“It’s felt good the whole time. The hurt’s just — just a little. Mostly I feel so tight I’m scared I’ll split.”

“That’s good. And I don’t think you’re gonna split. Oh, damn it, Din, I love you so much.” He wrapped his arms tight around Din’s body and hugged him, grinding into his ass. Din gasped, but pushed his hips back to meet him. “Let’s go.”

They rocked together, slowly at first, Cobb swivelling against Din’s firm buttocks and tugging his slippery cock, while Din tipped his head back against him and arched his spine, his chest heaving with deep huffing breaths. “That’s so deep,” he moaned. 

“Yeah? Feeling that joy?”

“I don’t know, I… oh…”

“Maybe we’re not getting the angle just right. Need to hit your sweet spot head on.”

“Maybe down a little?”

“Like this?”

“More.”

“Better?”

“Yes!” His cock twitched in Cobb’s hand and he thrust back against him. “Ah!”

“Okay, I’m gonna just fuck you now.” He was trying to stay focused on Din’s pleasure and comfort because he deserved a great first time, but it felt overwhelmingly good in his hot slippery depths, and Din was making wonderful sounds at every stroke, and he was revelling in it. He nuzzled into the side of his neck again and licked and gasped out smothered, mumbled words of love, and Din moaned just as incoherently until he was clutching tight on Cobb’s cock and coming over both their hands as they slid on and off his shaft. “Just a little bit more, baby, a little bit more,” Cobb panted, grinding into his twitching, jerking ring, cresting and breaking. His hips bucked through a few more strokes reflexively, weakening until he sagged and lay still, flushed and exhausted and blissful. When he was ready to move again he stroked Din’s belly and flanks and thighs, feeling the subsiding twitches in his muscles. 

“So that’s how  _ that _ feels,” he said, helpfully. “How’d you like it?”

Din laughed breathlessly. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Think we’ll be trading off more often now?”

_ “Oh  _ yes.” He took a deep breath and huffed it out. “Although it feels like once this glow wears off I’m going to have a sore ass.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’ll take care of you if you do.”

“Oh, I…” He breathed out again, deep and slow, made a little sound like he had something else to say, breathed in, out, and Cobb realised he was asleep. 

“You lazy son of a…” He kissed the back of Din’s neck, and after a minute, eased himself out. With shaky legs he made it to the bathroom for a piss and a little clean-up, then came back with a warm cloth to do the same for Din, who didn’t so much as stir in his sleep. He threw the cloth away, snuggled back into bed behind Din, pulled up the covers and turned off the light. It was perfectly dark, and outside the sandstorm was raging, but it was drowned out by the quiet, steady breathing he heard as he held Din tight. 

Since they had gone to bed straight after dinner and fell asleep only because of the exertion and satisfaction of having sex, it wasn’t surprising that they woke again at an odd hour of the night. Din tended to sleep solidly through unless he was woken, but Cobb more often than not woke in the early hours needing to pee and have a drink of water, and would move around the house quietly just making sure everything was peaceful and safe before returning to bed. This time he was woken up by Din trying to disentangle them so that he could get up, which meant everything was out of kilter. 

“Wrst,” he said vaguely. 

“Sorry,” said Din. 

“Time is it?”

“I don’t know. I woke up with my ass hurting and I’m going to get the bacta.”

“No, no you’re not, I made it sore and I’ll make it feel better.” He felt around for the light switch on the headboard and lit up the room. The sandstorm sounded as wild as ever. He hoped it wasn’t the kind where they’d have to spend the next couple of days digging out houses. Huge dunes could migrate kilometres in these storms. An unfamiliar thought occurred — once it all blew over, they should check on the Tuskens, see if they needed any help. He assumed they rode this sort of thing out in caves or canyons, they were supposed to be all attuned to their environment, but he realised he didn’t actually  _ know _ how sandstorms affected them. 

He rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, drank a little water and brought a cup back for Din as well as the chilled gel. 

“Thanks,” said Din, taking the cup and rolling onto his belly, propping himself up on his elbows. Then he laughed, a little snort close to a scoff. 

“What?” Cobb asked, uncapping the tube. 

“I just had one of those moments when you realise how completely your life has changed. You brought me a drink of water in bed. You’re going to take care of me. I just took the cup and rolled over to let you like all this was normal.”

“Better that this is normal, right? Is there anything lonelier than lying there knowing you don’t feel good and no one’s there to look after you but you?” He squeezed gel into his hand. “Here it comes, gonna be cold.”

“But that was —“ Din drew his breath in sharply with a little hiss as he felt the cold in a very warm place, then sighed as if in relief. “That was always normal, since I came of age,” he said. “I didn’t even think to mind it. Well, that and I was surely never going to need anyone to give me first aid because I hurt my butt having sex.”

“Fair point,” Cobb said with a chuckle. “I don’t think you’re hurt here, though, I think it’s just sore muscles. You’re kind of red but that’s the only damage I can see.”

“Put a little inside, just in case.”

“Sure. You like how that feels?”

“Nice and cool.”

“To me now it feels like the most natural thing that I should take care of you, even for something as private and, well, a little undignified as this. Because I love you. I love all of you, butt included. But natural and normal aren’t quite the same, are they? It still feels special.”

“Will you even take care of me if I get sick and throw up?”

“Of course I will. You would for me, right?”

“If you wanted me to.”

“Safe to say, if I’m sick enough to throw up, having someone be there and say it’s okay, I’ll help you, that would be like water in the desert.”

“You don’t think that’s just something you’d do for a child?”

“I don’t know,” Cobb said. He capped the tube and went into the bathroom to wash his hands. Coming back, he said, “I mean, why is ‘baby’ something you call a partner? Not ‘cause they’re like a baby. Because you treasure them and you want to take care of them, right? Most of the time you don’t really need a thing from me. You’re a grown man, so am I, we could just live side by side and do everything for ourselves. But we don’t want to.” He lay down again beside Din, on his back, folding one arm behind his head. “We like babying each other a little, don’t we?”

Din leaned over and kissed him. “Yeah. Did I help you ignore the noise?”

“I think you know you did.” He combed the fingers of his free hand through Din’s hair. “You’re getting shaggy. I could give you a trim tomorrow.”

“I prefer doing that myself. It’s been a while.”

“You just run the clippers over your head?”

“I did, but my clippers blew up along with everything else I owned. Where are yours?”

“I go to the barbershop.” Din knew that, he just tended to loiter outside while Cobb was in the chair. He liked those visits. Besides the fact the barber could cut his hair and shape his beard a lot better than he could, it was always a good opportunity to talk to people and keep up with events without seeming like he was questioning them.

“I’m not doing that.”

“No, I get that. You’ve got a beard trimmer, though, I’ve seen you use it.” He rubbed Din’s cheek thoughtfully. The black eye still looked pretty colourful, but the swelling was nearly gone and it clearly wasn’t bothering him any. Besides that he had a fresh crop of love-bites of varying intensities on his neck and shoulders, from little reddish nibbles to real purple bruises. He didn’t feel guilty about putting those marks on him.

“That’s an old one of yours, I found it in the back of the cupboard.”

“Well, you just ransack my personal effects like a Jawa, don’t you?” Cobb asked, smiling. 

“Ah, I hate those guys.”

“What, all of ‘em?”

“All the Jawas I’ve personally met.”

“Not one Jawa you’ve ever met has been sort of basically okay on a good day?”

“You’re the one calling them ransackers,” Din pointed out, and knocked back the last of his water.

“Oh, sure, that’s just what they do. Getting mad at a Jawa for picking up anything that’s not nailed down is like getting mad at Mandos for fighting. Plus I do retain a soft spot for anyone who both saves my life and helps me to change it. They were part of a big turning point for me.”

“Now I’ve got to be jealous of Jawas?”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Well, wasn’t I part of a big turning point too?”

“Oh! Yes, you were, but the soft spot for you is way bigger and softer.”

“Good,” said Din, clearly mollified, and put his cup up on the headboard shelf. He rolled onto his side, wedging his pillow more comfortably, and laid one arm over Cobb’s waist. “I guess if I’m charitable, Jawas were part of a turning point for me too. That whole incident with the mudhorn was because of a deal where I had to get them one of its eggs.”

“That’s right, there you go. Why, they practically got you your signet,” Cobb said with a grin.

“Not that charitable,” said Din. He reached up and snapped off the light, and in the dark Cobb felt him settling with his head on his shoulder.

“We’ll get you some clippers in the — well, next time we can get out of this place.” He wrapped his arm around Din, reached up to scratch his head, then dropped his hand to stroke his side. “Till then it’s nice to be cooped up with you. How’s your ass feeling?”

“Better. I think I still like our usual best, but I’m going to want to do that again.”

“I should hope so.” They lay quiet for a while, listening to the wind howl and the sand whoosh and mystery creaks and bumps somewhere out there. 

“I think it’s tapering off,” said Din.

Cobb pinched him gently. “We don’t say that. Jinxes it.”

“I take it back.”

“Good night again, darlin’.”

“Good night, babe.”

The sandstorm finally blew itself out in the late afternoon of the third day, dying away while they were taking a nap on the couch for lack of anything else to do. Din was woken first by the silence. He lay listening in drowsy confusion for a minute or two before he understood what he wasn’t hearing any more. Cobb was sleeping with his head on Din’s chest, looking all sweet and peaceful. His head was tilted to the side so the scar on his temple was more noticeable, shiny and jagged like a faded pink lightning bolt. He felt quietly proud of himself for helping Cobb not to “mess himself up” this time. Obviously there was no making him do anything, but providing encouragement and perhaps more importantly a distraction had clearly done some good. 

He’d forgotten about wearing his helmet to sleep last night, but there had been no nightmares, at least nothing vigorous enough to wake him up. He still felt sort of tender in the ass but not painful now; it was more like being gently, persistently reminded of what he could now do if he felt like it, and it made him feel a subtle combination of embarrassed and sexy. He was still getting used to feeling sexy, that he himself was the focus of Cobb’s desires and could give him a thrill with a look or a touch, as opposed to it just being Cobb who could affect him like that. It was completely different from the irritating awareness that someone he didn’t like was attracted to him (which had been most people who expressed an attraction to him) or the resignation to nothing coming of it attendant on someone he did like showing him kindness (because the people he did feel attracted to in the past tended to be those who were just kind to him and didn’t  _ pursue _ him). 

The problem with the first one, other than the fact that they tended to be very forward about it and he found it off-putting, was that he was always sure they weren’t actually attracted to  _ him _ , they were attracted to his outer appearance, which deliberately hid him, or to whatever they’d imagined inside the armour, without seeming to consider that he could be different from their fantasy and that might actually matter. 

Cobb was different because although he’d decided he wanted him based in part on outward appearance, he’d been more interested in who he was inside the armour — what he thought and how he felt, not just what he looked like and whether he could get a look at him. Cobb was also different, of course, because  _ he _ had felt a stronger physical attraction to him than to anyone else he could remember. That was highly unusual for him and he couldn’t really account for it other than Cobb being unusually hot, sufficient to warm up even a relatively cold fish like himself. 

What it boiled down to (a warm fish? a boiled fish?) was that he enjoyed being attractive to Cobb and so it actually made him feel sexy as opposed to put-upon. It was just  _ nice. _ Nice like being brought a cup of water in bed when he hadn’t even asked but was in fact a little thirsty and not being surprised, nice like feeling Cobb’s gaze on him when he was doing nothing more interesting than walking across a room, but apparently that was worth gazing at, nice like the warm heaviness of Cobb’s head on his chest now. Nice like all of these completely unprecedented things having become normal. 

He reached down and patted Cobb’s chest. “Hey, wake up,” he said softly. Cobb scrunched up his nose for a moment before subsiding back into sleep. Din gave him a firmer pat and a slightly louder “hey.”

Cobb opened one eye, then the other. After a moment more both eyes cleared and his face bloomed into a smile. “It stopped!”

“It stopped,” Din agreed, delighted by getting to elicit that smile. 

“Ohhhhhohoho,” Cobb groaned, “that is  _ such _ a fuckin’ relief. You have no idea.”

“I might have some idea.”

“I gotta get outside,” Cobb said, scrambling off the couch.

The front door admitted a heavy spill of sand which Cobb clambered over, kicking more sand down into the front hall he normally kept well swept, to get up and out. Din grabbed his helmet from the kitchen counter and put it on before following him, feeling a little absurd wearing it with only an undershirt and pants, but he wanted to see what state the town was in sooner than he could if he got fully dressed. He scrambled up through the sliding sand and found Cobb sitting on top of the little crest of sand that fronted their house, pouring loose sand through his hands and looking around at the one street of the town, eyes squinted against the glare compared with the gloom inside with the storm shutters closed. Din sat down beside him and took in the scene. Not too bad, actually. There were drifts of sand piled up against the fronts of all the houses this side of the street, and against the backs of all the houses on the other side, but nothing was entirely buried. It was a couple of days’ shovel work, less if they could bring down some machinery from the mine. People were beginning to emerge from their houses, blinking into the sunshine, and he felt self-conscious about his bare arms. There wasn’t any sort of “no living thing may see my arms” rule but still, he didn’t normally show skin to anyone but Cobb. 

“I’m going to check on the ship,” he said, squeezing Cobb’s arm, and slithered back down the sand pile.

The  _ Mudhorn _ ’s bright glossy paint was all dulled and scuffed, like a giant had taken to it with an enormous scouring pad, but she hadn’t budged from her place. He lowered the landing ramp and went inside. The air in here was a little stale after several days shut up, but it was nice to be in a space different from the house. Enough outside air had come in through the sheltered vents to prevent the atmosphere inside the house getting dangerously depleted of oxygen, but it inescapably smelled funky. He suspected it would have been noticeable even with his helmet on. Funny how you could love the smell of someone’s sweat when you were  _ making _ him sweat, but it didn’t last. 

He flipped on the power in the cockpit and saw there was a comms message. Something from Boba Fett. An invitation to the palace again, to both him and Cobb, when they were available. He wasn’t sure if Boba was trying to be sociable or to enlist them in his plans. Possibly a combination of both. He didn’t really like the idea of taking Cobb back there, but it was probably best to let him make his own mind up about whether he could tolerate it. Maybe he’d actually feel better going back there and forming a different memory in the place. Din would run it by him, but they certainly couldn’t go for a few days, until things were tidied up here. 

Bo-Katan might not have his new comms details, he didn’t know how widely Boba had distributed them or whether he was even able to get in touch with her, but he was a little dismayed that he still had no message from her, no indication of when he could hope for the current impasse to be over. It was starting to feel worthwhile to take this ship and head out and find her for himself, despite leaving Cobb alone and missing him for however long it took. He was being far too passive about the whole thing. 

For now, though, there was a lot to do here. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you may have noticed some additions to the tags, because things have... spread. This was already smut but I feel like in this part it kicked up a notch, simply because more people got involved and more explicit kinks came into play. I enjoyed writing it, and it was just what occurred to me I would enjoy reading rather than an attempt to produce what I think other people want, but worried a bit that it was too much of a tonal shift, or too soon, or emotionally implausible for these characters (the intimacy of the conversations, let alone the ensuing sex). Then I thought, "Yes, but I've rewritten it three times already and I should just post some or I'll never get anywhere else. This is too much anxiety to expend on a story where Boba Fett eats ass."
> 
> You may also be wondering "where?" as you begin to read because it goes on for a long time and that bit is, appropriately, near the end.
> 
> I had a variety of notes I wanted to add at the end but even though they were under the character limit AO3 said they were over so whatevs.

Once the digging out was done, and the tribe contacted about help (as he’d told Cobb they would be, they were puzzled about why people who coped so poorly with desert conditions thought _they_ might need their help, but rather than taking it as an insult they thought it was pretty cute; this pissed Cobb off quite a lot but he had the sense to keep that to himself until they got home, and eventually he could admit it was sort of funny) they decided after a little discussion that yes, they would go and see Boba, since until Cobb knew more about whether he was someone he could wholeheartedly support or at least someone he could co-operate with without compromising himself, it seemed smart to keep the lines of communication open and learn all they could. 

“Besides, gotta go see the in-laws, right?” Cobb asked him with half a grin. “Or the ol’ outlaw. Say, is he an outlaw?”

“Fennec Shand is, I don’t know about him. Possibly? Why, you want to arrest him?”

“Well, the question then would be whose law he’s outside of. I have to admit, I’m largely enforcing the Law According to Cobb. Rule number one, don’t do anything to other folks you wouldn’t like done to you. Rule number two, even if you wouldn’t mind them doing that to you, if _they_ don’t like it, cut it out. Rule number three, if I catch you breaking rule one or two your ass is mine whether you like it or not. Pretty basic.”

“Boba’s done a _lot_ of things to other people that they didn’t like. Me too.”

“And that’s why I’m running a town and not a planet or the galaxy. In a small town, that law works. You don’t need to get into the rights and wrongs of bounty hunters.”

“What do you think about bounty hunters? Right or wrong?” The question hung in the air between them like smoke. They were sitting out behind the house watching the stars. 

Cobb paused a long moment, drumming his fingers on his knee. “You know _I_ know you’re a good man,” he said. 

“Not the question.”

“I don’t like the system. Too easy for anyone with money to have someone targeted. Runaway slaves, for example.”

“Or a child,” Din said quietly. 

“That’s it. And a good bounty hunter can be picky about their jobs and refuse shady clients, but there’s nothing about the system that stops those shady clients getting a hunter who’s not so particular. So no, I don’t like it, and I’m happy you don’t want to do it any more.”

“You’ve never asked me to give it up. You were willing to let me go back to it if I wanted to.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to ask, if I offered you something better.”

Din sat quietly for a while, trying to put thoughts into words. “For a long time it didn’t concern me. The whole morality of it. Because as far as I was concerned, the Creed was the only morality. Everyone outside of it, well, their conflicts were a matter for them, not for me. I was just trying to get paid and support the people who took care of me when I needed them.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” said Cobb. “I’m in no position to judge.”

“No, I just wanted to explain it. I wouldn’t expect it to make sense to anyone who didn’t grow up the way I did, _in_ the outside world but not _of_ it.”

“I’m glad that changed for you. Don’t think you’d have been willing to get involved in my problems otherwise.”

Din shrugged. “Well, even without a change in moral perspective, I might still have decided it was less trouble to help you than to fight you.”

Cobb sputtered with laughter. “Less trouble to kill a krayt dragon than to fight me?”

“Sure. I didn’t have a crush on the dragon.”

“Now see, it’s not fair to say a thing like that with your helmet on. I need to see your eyes. That little sparkle they get when you feel like you’ve just been smooth as hell.” Cobb wagged a finger at him in admonition.

Din grinned happily, hidden. “You have to let me have these little things. I’m not smooth all that often.”

Cobb pushed himself up and out of his chair, taking a turn and a sidestep to bring him round in front of Din in his chair. He stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looking down at him with the same smile he’d had when Din stuck his landing after blowing up the dragon, a mixture of admiration and wry disbelief. “Oh no,” he said, “not smooth at all.” He raised one hand to scratch his beard, thumb rasping along his jaw. “Get your ass outta that chair.”

Din had had his hands comfortably folded over his midriff. He raised them in an innocent half-shrug, “who me?”

“Up,” Cobb said, with a little upward jerk of his head. Din got to his feet and Cobb took half a step closer, dropped his hands to Din’s backside and pulled his hips against his with a bump. He rested his forehead against the brow of the helmet, and Din felt him stroking his thumbs up and down. “I always think,” he murmured, “if I get close like this, look right through the mail slot, I might see your eyes.”

“It’s dark,” Din said. “And mail slot?” He tucked his thumbs into Cobb’s belt and gave it a little tug. 

“No one out here but us,” Cobb said softly. “And I have always thought I’d like to kiss you under the moonlight.”

“You can lift it enough for a kiss.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” His hands moved to the helmet eagerly, and he lifted and tilted it back with practised care, just high enough, the lower edge just under Din’s nose, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Din parted them a little, to invite him in, and felt the lush warm wet of his tongue. He pushed his hips against Cobb’s more firmly. Of course, like this he couldn’t see; he was as good as blindfolded and neither of them got to enjoy the other’s eyes. Part of him wanted to trust Cobb’s confidence that there was no one around but them, but the rest of him was still cautious. They were just behind the house and there was nothing to stop anyone coming off the main street and around the side of it, and while there was nothing shameful about being found kissing the marshal, he wanted his privacy. Still, his back was towards the house. Maybe just for a little. 

“You can lift it higher,” he said. 

“Take it off?” Cobb asked with a flicker of a smile. 

The answer to the smile grew on his lips. “Or I will.”

“I love you,” Cobb said quietly, easing the helmet up. 

“I love you.” The feeling of chilly, outdoor, night air against his face gave him shivers and he gripped Cobb’s belt a little tighter. Cobb lifted the helmet to the top of his head, but didn’t pull it right off; he held it ready to slide down again whenever necessary, and the understanding that showed made him warm. He blinked and gazed at Cobb’s face, silvered and shadowed by moonlight.

“You know you’ve got the stars in your eyes,” Cobb said. “And I know exactly how hokey and sappy that sounds.” He kissed him again, still tenderly but with more heat, and Din met him and matched him with parted lips and stroking tongue, and a low hum of pleasure. He rocked his hips against Cobb’s, just to be perfectly obvious, and the corners of his mouth quirked when he felt his cock shift. 

“Let’s go inside.”

“Yeah… you can bring the stars in with us,” Cobb said. He slid the helmet back down and patted the top. “See? Sealed ‘em in.” 

“Come on, fool.” He let go of Cobb’s belt with one hand, slid the other to the front to grip the buckle, and pulled him behind him to the back door. 

Boba Fett clearly took some pleasure in setting himself up as a gentleman of means. He invited them for dinner on the day they said they could visit and said he’d put them up overnight.

“I’ve got more rooms in this place than I know what to do with,” he said over comms. “May as well fill up two for a night.” It was a recorded message he’d left while they were out on patrol, so there was no opportunity to say that they only needed one to share.

“So he doesn’t realise we’re together?” Cobb asked Din as they carried the few things they were bringing with them (a bottle of spotchka as a gift to their host, their toothbrushes and a few other toiletries and clean clothes) onto the _Mudhorn_. 

“I guess not. Better tell him before it turns into a big misunderstanding.”

“Well, he ought to be fine with it, right? You said he’s not strict about the Creed, so he’s not going to object to you living with a non-Mandalorian.”

“Oh, no, I don’t expect him to care about that at all. I just feel… shy. Like telling Peli and Cara, but a little more because I don’t know him as well as them,” Din said, opening the cabin door and tossing his bag in on the bunk.

“Hey. If he’s anything but happy for us, we burn the place down and fly home,” said Cobb, bumping his hip against Din’s. 

“It’s a stone castle,” Din pointed out.

“We blow the place up and fly home,” Cobb amended, grinning. “Hey, should we have dressed up any?”

“I don’t have anything to dress up in. Do you?”

“Got my funerals’n’weddings suit.” 

“Better not, then.”

“You haven’t even seen me in it. I look sharp in black.”

“I like you better in red.”

“Red _is_ my lucky colour,” Cobb said. “But would a whole red suit be too much?”

Din gave him a quizzical look, as he interpreted the tilt of his helmet. “I wasn’t planning to buy you a suit.” Then, “Would you _like_ a suit?”

Cobb laughed. “I’m not fishing for gifts, babe.”

“Drop some hints around Boba, he seems to like giving gifts.”

“He already gave me one suit. And hey, it’s red. I should put that on. It’d look respectful, right? Showing up in armour.”

“Yes. You seem kind of… eager to please? It’s not quite like you.”

Cobb leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “I know, I’m being weird.”

“You don’t need to worry about impressing him for my sake, you know.”

“It’s not really that. It’s a mix of things. One, I’ve got myself into a funk about going back to the palace and I’m trying to unfunk it. That’s not even where my worst memories are, and it pisses me off to be kept out of a place by _memories,_ like who do they think they are? I’m probably building it up as worse than it’s gonna be, so I’m fussing about things that don’t really matter so I don’t dwell on it.”

Din nodded. “I get that. I don’t want to treat you like you can’t handle yourself, but I said before, if it bothers you I don’t want to ignore it.”

“Well, if it’s really making my skin crawl I can just leave and sleep here. Knowing I’ve got an option helps me put up with things. Though that might offend Boba, and I’m trying to thread this needle in between trying to make a good impression on him, because if he’s got staying power he’s gonna be the man to deal with, and not sucking up. I won’t suck up to him or anyone. I have to keep my dignity and my integrity. _But_ I know if I’m too stiff-necked about that, I can’t best serve my town. Like I said, he’s gonna be the man to deal with. So I’m thinking about how to go in there showing him respect, so we get off to a good start, but also showing him I expect the same respect from him. And I know I can count on you to tell me if there’s any hidden traps of Mando etiquette.”

Din reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Of course. You’ll do fine. Boba’s a plain-speaking type, I don’t think he sets traps like that. And yes, wearing the armour says you appreciate the gift he gave you, you’re putting it to good use, and it says you’re prepared to fight. Including fighting him if he tries to dominate you.”

“Because Mandos will throw down anywhere, any time?” Cobb asked. 

“Exactly. It’s a little tiresome of us, I know. But like I said, I don’t think he sets traps, so he’s not likely to attack you just to test you. But he _will_ go for you if you piss him off. Knowing that, you should do fine.” Din patted his shoulder again and let go.

“Does he get pissed off easy?”

“Depends, are you planning to give him shit about being a clone?”

“Why would I? None of us gets to choose how we’re born. Or grown, as the case may be. It’s what you do with yourself after that that counts.”

“Or make out that he’s not a real Mandalorian?”

“Who the hell am I to judge that?”

“I think those are his main push-buttons,” Din said with a shrug. “Easy enough to stay off them.”

“Thanks, babe. You’ve calmed me down.”

A key difference between the helmet Boba had given Cobb and a Mandalorian one was that it had a visor that either covered the face or pulled back over the top of the helmet. When they arrived he went back and forth deciding whether to wear it up or down before muttering “screw it” and carrying the helmet under his arm. 

“This isn’t offensive, is it? Not like I’m walking in there with my ass hanging out?”

“Of course not. One, you’re not Mandalorian to begin with, you won’t be judged by the same standards. Two, apparently only a few of us care about that anyway.”

“Well, _you_ care, so I care, so there.” Cobb bounced on the balls of his feet, expecting Din to lower the landing ramp. Instead he tipped back his helmet and tapped his lower lip with his forefinger.

“For luck?” he said.

“Who needs the luck?” Cobb asked.

“You give me some, I’ll give you some, and we should both be okay.”

Cobb leaned in to kiss him, half-smiling. “I already feel lucky.”

Once again they were conducted into the throne room by a protocol droid, which this time took their bags away with it. Once again, there was only a loth cat in attendance, although it was washing its face and ears rather than licking its bottom. Once again Boba Fett was sitting on the throne, but this time there was also a woman sitting on the arm of it, looking relaxed but watchful. Cobb had seen a wanted poster for her once in Mos Eisley, and even without that would have guessed she was Fennec Shand. She gave both him and Din a professional once-over glance, but any conclusions she drew didn’t show on her face. 

“Welcome back,” said Boba, rising from his seat. “I was starting to think you didn’t have time for this. What keeps you so busy out there?”

“We had a sandstorm,” Din said. “Then there was clean-up, then there was a barbecue.”

“A barbecue,” Boba repeated.

“People in Mos Pelgo like a barbecue. They invited the local Tusken tribe. We’re starting to build on our truce and form an alliance. The kids get to play together. Sharing food always helps.”

“Isn’t that why you invited us to dinner?” Cobb asked.

“Well, a few reasons,” said Boba. “Listen, I’d like to speak to you,” he said, pointing to Din, “and if you’ll excuse us, Fennec has something to show you in the office,” he said to Cobb. 

Fennec slid down from her perch and nodded to Cobb. He sort of wanted to look Din’s way and check that this was all expected, but didn’t want it to look like Din was the boss of him. Equal partner, sure, but he was still trying to make his impression, so he just nodded back. “See you in a few minutes then, partner.”

“See you,” said Din, and his tone was as calm as ever.

He followed Fennec out of the throne room and up a winding staircase. He distantly remembered going up and down here fetching and carrying for his owner at the time, one of Jabba’s hangers-on and a man he’d truly despised. He despised anyone who’d buy and sell sentient beings, of course, but there was range in everything and it had been particularly galling that such a fawning parasite got to control his life. He could feel himself slipping right back into his anger from those days, with all its adolescent intensity, and had to tell himself to lower his shoulders and loosen his fists. Nothing bad was happening right now and it was a waste of rage to burn it on this staircase.

“You like it here?” he asked Fennec’s back. 

“It’s too big,” she said. “The castle’s hundreds of years old and it was built to accommodate giant toad-slugs, and it still smells like them in places. But we can do what we want with the place, and that’s nice.” She reached a landing and opened a door, and he followed her into a corridor from which she took the first left into a large room. All the walls were lined with shelves and filing cabinets and there was a long console of computer terminals down the middle, with one large desk at the far end. “We just call this the office, but it’s really an archive of all the Hutts’ business records. Again, going back centuries. Some of the files are parchment. Even for comparatively recent records they favoured hard-copy documents. Like what I’m going to show you.” She walked briskly up the middle of the room to the big desk, Cobb trailing a few steps behind. He’d never been into this room before and curiosity was a distraction from his mood. Still, disgust built up again as he thought about the centuries of greed and cruelty that this mass of records represented. 

Fennec took something from the desk, turned and leaned back against it. He saw she was holding a folder, which she held out to him. 

“This is you,” she said. 

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“We’ve had people going through all the slave records, so we can make out manumission documents for everyone who was still owned by any Hutt individual or business entity. This is what they get for centralising the whole family’s records. Your name came up. Technically, you were still property until yesterday when the papers were sealed. In that folder are your ownership records and manumission papers. You’re officially your own man. Boba thought you’d like to have that.”

His mouth felt dry and he felt hot all over, as if his skin were sunburned. “I don’t need a piece of paper for that.”

“It might be useful to have it, though.”

“Listen, I freed myself. It doesn’t matter what anyone’s _papers_ say. You know, the sawbones in Mos Pelgo, she built this gadget that deactivates slaver chips. She’s saved a lot of lives, mine included. That was when I got free, when they couldn’t blow my head off for disobedience. I wouldn’t wipe my ass with these!” He realised his hands were shaking, and he was yelling at someone who’d presumably thought she was doing him a favour. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. That’s not your fault.”

Fennec’s face had remained impassive, but her eyes softened a little. “I can understand you feeling strongly about it. I’ll give you a minute.” She turned her attention to another folder on the desk, and he walked away to a corner. He hadn’t expected this sprung on him. Truth to tell, he hadn’t even thought of these papers existing. He didn’t know if he wanted to look at them. He realised, and hated to realise, that he felt ashamed of them. There was no shame, he told himself, in having been enslaved, the only shame was on the slaver, and he _knew_ that but this evidence of his captivity made him feel helpless and ashamed. He didn’t want Din to see it. He was angry that Fennec and presumably Boba had. 

He’d bent the folder in half without realising it, squeezing it between his hands. The hot-all-over feeling had become a flop sweat, and that made it feel like things were going from bad to worse, out of his control. He made himself breathe slowly, lower his shoulders and unclench his jaw. He could control all of those. After a minute he turned back and went over to the desk, holding out the folder to Fennec.

“I’d appreciate it if you held onto these for me,” he said. “They’ll be safer here.” 

“You’re sure?”

“If I ever need to produce ‘em, I know where they are,” he said firmly. 

Fennec took the folder back. “Okay. Your choice.”

“Exactly.”

“I may have handled this poorly. I’m not used to… paperwork. I’m used to shooting people.” She gave a little shrug and a tight-lipped smile.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a sore subject for me.” He rolled his shoulders back, feeling a little better now that the folder was out of his hands. “It did beat getting shot.” That got her to smile properly, and he felt a little better again seeing it and managing to smile in return. 

“Being Boba Fett’s right-hand woman is really not what I thought it might be,” she said, leaning against the desk again and folding her arms. “Parts of it are exactly what I thought they would be, but then there’s all the rest of it.”

He leant beside her, perching his backside on the edge of the desk and setting the helmet down beside him. “Well, a career change always has its ups and downs. I was wondering, are you two friends or —”

“Not this,” she said sharply. “Why can’t people just believe a man and a woman can be a team and not be a couple? It’s so boring.”

“No, ma’am, you read me wrong. Though if you’ve been hearing a lot of that, I see why you’d be tired of it. I meant, are you friends or are you just working for him because of the life debt thing? Din told me about that.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a more interesting question.” Fennec looked thoughtful. “We weren’t friends before he saved my life. That was how we met. So initially, yes, it was because of the debt, but I think we’re becoming friends. I like him. There’s no bullshit about Boba. We understand each other. When you’ve passed through death, it makes you different. Different from your old self and different from people who don’t know what that’s like.”

Cobb nodded. “Can’t be easy.”

“What do you think of him?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s good to hear about the bullshit or lack thereof.”

“He likes you.”

“He does?”

“You need proof?” she asked, glancing down at his armour. 

“I wasn’t sure if that was personal. Could’ve been building alliances as a more strategic thing.”

“Well, he hated you while you had his armour. He’d keep you under surveillance and come back to camp bitching about what a scarecrow you looked like. We were keeping an eye on you the whole time when you met Djarin and took out the dragon. Boba just started to get excited that it was finally gone and he could move in on you, and then we saw you giving the armour away to Djarin. He had a few choice things to say about that. We tailed you all back to town after your cookout — and you just had to take the armour into the house with you, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t about to leave it in the shed out back with the speeders. Local kids might try to take it for a joyride.”

“So then it was a matter of following him. Boba just switched off from giving a damn about you from that point on. He’s very focused like that. But then when he got the armour back, he kept complaining about the smell inside.”

“Now that’s unfair. I cleaned it. And I wash,” he added, self-consciously.

“Not a dirty smell, just a someone-else smell. He said it was like an intruder. Apparently your hair pomade got on his nerves.”

“None of this sounds like he likes me at all,” Cobb said, scratching his head and scrunching his nose. “And I’m confused, because when I met him he said something about watching me helping him figure out what he wanted to do here. Not that he just hated me.”

“Well, he hated you but with a grudging admiration. I remember him saying, ‘Bugger me, but he knows what he’s doing.’ Sometimes when you had people on the run he’d laugh and say, ‘Get ‘em, scarecrow.’ Then when he met you it seems he really took to you. He liked how you stood up to him and he thought you looked a lot better closer up than through a scope.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cobb, beginning to feel embarrassed, if also a little flattered. “Hold up. Are you wingmanning for him right now? Is this where you start telling me he’s generous and stable and stuff like that?”

Fennec laughed. “We’re not that close,” she said. “If he wants to hit on you he can do his own dirty work.”

“Well, it’s awkward if he does, because I’m spoken for.”

“Djarin?” Fennec asked, sounding unsurprised. 

“Yeah. I love him like no one else.”

“That’s nice. He’s a good egg.”

“Now you got me wondering why Boba wanted to talk to him separate from me. I’m going back,” he said, pushing off from the desk and scooping up the helmet. “This all just feels a little odd.”

She followed him out. Heading down the stairs he was preoccupied in a pretty different way from going up. He hadn’t anticipated this (should he have? Was that “not your sugar daddy” crack to Din one of those jokes that are really just testing the water? Not yours but could be _yours?_ ) and he wasn’t keen on possibly being invited on some kind of stealth date, especially given his partner was there too. Was giving him his freedom supposed to be a romantic gesture? Cobb could see why someone who didn’t understand how he felt about it might think that. And did he think Din was his competition? If they’d fight over anything, did Mandalorians fight over access to someone they liked? Halfway down the stairs he heard a loud clatter, a thump, a series of metallic ringing noises and a weird low-pitched humming sound, and his heart leapt painfully. He took the remaining steps three at a time and slammed open the door into the throne room. 

They were fighting, a whirl of flying limbs and clashing weapons, and the weird hum came from what could only be the Darksaber; it looked like a rip in reality. Din was wielding it and he seemed to be at a disadvantage, ducking and dodging frantically as Boba drove him back towards the wall with whirring arcs of — hey, that was Din’s spear. Why would he have that? That oddity undercut his alarm, and a second later Din’s back hit the wall and Boba brought the head of the spear to his throat before stopping it short and stepping back.

“You weren’t joking,” he said, “you’re crap with a sword.” He turned to see what Din was looking at; Cobb standing in the doorway looking rattled. “Oh, there you are,” he said calmly. 

“I can fight someone _with_ a sword,” Din said, “but I’m rusty on doing it myself, and this sword is _weird_. What’s wrong?” he asked Cobb, stepping away from the wall and shutting off the saber. 

“Who pissed off who?” Cobb asked. 

“Oh. No one. Boba offered to help me train for my duel with Bo-Katan. That was a friendly match.”

“This is really nice,” Boba said, spinning the spear in his hands. “Can I have it if she kills you?”

“Knock yourself out,” said Din. He went over to Cobb and said quietly, “It’s okay.”

“I know that. I wasn’t worried,” Cobb said with an attempt at nonchalance. “You’re right, that sword is weird. It gave me the creeps a little.”

“It is… spooky,” said Din. He pressed something on the hilt in his hand and the blade of darkness shot out again. He angled it so Cobb could get a good look at it. “They say it was made by the first and only Mandalorian to serve as a Jedi.”

“That didn’t work out,” said Boba, doing some kind of elaborate twirling-and-striking-the-air exercise with the spear (Cobb had to wonder if he was trying to impress him; he was a bit). 

“So it doesn’t make you a Jedi to have one of the magic laser swords?” Cobb asked. “Forgive me if that’s a stupid question.”

“I thought maybe you had to be one to make the magic laser swords work,” said Din, “but you just click a button. Any fool can do it.”

“Can I hold it, or is it… you know, sacred?”

“You can hold it; I trust you not to go running off with it.” Din offered him the hilt of the saber and he carefully took it from his hand; he noticed from the corner of his eye that Fennec was going over to speak quietly to Boba and he really hoped she wasn’t describing his outburst. Holding the Darksaber was… weird, he kept coming back to that adjective, not weird in an ordinary strange way, weird like uncanny. He could feel the hum of it through his bones. It made him nervous to hold it; any normal solid weapon, if you accidentally tapped someone with it, wouldn’t do them too much damage, but this felt like it might just go straight on through them like a hot knife through butter. He flicked it up and down a little and heard the pitch of the hum change. 

“It _really_ gives me the creeps,” he said. “No wonder you want to lose it. No offence.” He stared at the blade, into the depth of its darkness. “It looks like you could poke your finger in there,” he said.

“Don’t,” said Din. “I don’t think you’d get it back.” He slid his hand over Cobb’s and gently but firmly took the hilt back and shut it off, then reattached it to his belt.

“You should come back here a few days a week,” Boba said. “That’s if your marshal can spare you. You should get up to speed pretty quick if we concentrate on your weak points. Give the princess what for.” He gave the spear one more twirl and then handed it back to Din.

“You don’t have to spend so much time on me,” said Din, sounding quite touched. “You’re busy.”

“I’d enjoy it. But take your time to think about it. Dinner’s in half an hour; QR will show you your rooms.” He gave a sudden sharp whistle and the protocol droid from earlier came clanking in from a side door. 

“We only need one room,” said Din. “We sleep together.”

“Oh,” said Boba. You couldn’t say his voice betrayed anything and of course his face was hidden, but his sudden stillness suggested he was surprised. “Well, that’s not a problem, QR can just move your bags.”

 _Huh,_ Cobb thought. _He didn’t know, or at least he wasn’t sure. But he’s calm about it. Maybe I’m uncomfortable for nothing. Most likely he just likes the look of me but doesn’t expect anything. I shouldn’t get a big head about it._ He followed the droid, together with Din, through the side door and up a more decorative staircase until they reached a large guest room. It was still furnished in the tacky style that was a Hutt’s idea of opulent, but it looked like someone had lately been through it gathering up and throwing out a lot of the clutter of ornaments, so what was left had a chance to look like something instead of being lost in a crowd of “Guess how expensive _this_ was!” Cobb supposed that was an improvement. It was also an improvement, probably, that he hadn’t seen a living servant so far. The protocol droid had gone off to the next room and was returning with one of their bags, the other one being already on a big chest of drawers. The bed was Hutt-style too, basically a big bowl in the stone floor lined with a thick plush mattress and adorned with fluffy cushions, a bed to wallow in. It made him long for his own bed with the firm mattress and the definite head and foot and the quilt he’d made to suit his own taste. Even if it was going to have Din in it, this bed wasn’t appealing. He felt too hot again, cramped, and on impulse he struggled out of his armour as quickly as he could. He shook out and retied his scarf and felt a little more like himself. 

Din had gone off into the adjoining bathroom, and Cobb could hear that he was peeing. Making himself at home, then. He followed and stopped at the sight of another, deeper bowl in the floor, a bathtub. What a gross extravagance. He’d assisted owners in and out of baths like that but never been in one himself. He was torn between wanting to know what it felt like to be immersed like that and anger that anyone had that much water to themselves and didn’t share it.

“Every single thing I see in here pisses me off,” he said aloud. Din turned from the toilet, zipping up his fly, and asked “Every one?”

“Yep. I want to rip it all out, sell it off to the junk shops in Mos Eisley, and turn it into, I don’t know, a hospital or a school or something. Look at this tub! How many litres of water would it take to fill it? And here’s you and me and every other poor sap on the planet cleaning up with a washcloth in the sink.”

“So I take it you don’t want to take a bath tonight,” Din said dryly. 

“Were you hoping to?” Cobb asked, his shoulders sagging a little. 

“Not if it would piss you off.”

“I mean, it’s not that I think wanting to take a bath makes you a bad person. It’s just this _place.”_

“We can leave any time. You know I’m on your side.” Din came closer, lifted off his helmet, tucked it under his arm and rested his forehead against Cobb’s, his free hand warm on the back of his neck. Cobb closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, held it a moment and let it out slowly. It was amazing how much calmer he felt. 

“Something weird happened,” he said after a minute’s rest. 

“Yeah?”

“What Fennec had to show me. It was my papers. I guess they thought it’d be nice for me to know I was free and clear, but it really stirred me up. I… lost my composure some, and I was embarrassed.”

“You cried?”

“No, I yelled. Pulled myself together and apologised, but still.”

“I don’t think some yelling is going to bother Fennec Shand that much.”

“She was good about it.” He briefly considered telling Din about the other weird thing, but decided against it. He didn’t even know it was a thing, and Din had more than enough definite things to contend with. If anything ever came of it, time enough to talk about it then. For now, well, it was just kind of flattering to be a Mando magnet, he guessed. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

“That he might have some work for me. I said I’d have to discuss it with you. I know how you feel about bounty hunting in general, but I wondered if you’d feel different if I was rounding up slavers who’ve gone to ground since he took over.”

“That is different,” Cobb said, lifting his head. “A slaver’s forfeited any claim on my compassion. Unless they’re comin’ crawlin’ on their hands and knees to apologise for all the lives they wrecked and promise to work the rest of _their_ lives to make amends, I’d shoot ‘em and sleep better for it.”

“That’s pretty much what I thought you’d say, but I wanted to check before I committed to anything. I also told him my priority would be working with you, but if you could spare me sometimes, maybe I could do it.”

“But you didn’t say we’re together?”

“I thought I implied it enough for him to get it, but maybe not. Anyway, he gets it now, so it’s all good.” He paused, hesitating, then asked, “Do you think maybe… I’m not sure if you could see it when you came in. At some points during our fight I felt like Boba was maybe hitting on me a little. Just from his tone, or the way he moved around me.”

“His tone?” Cobb asked. Maybe he’d read the whole situation wrong. Boba hadn’t separated them because he wanted to fight Din for him while backhandedly courting Cobb with a gift, the much simpler explanation was that he just wanted to have time alone with the one he liked. 

“I don’t know,” said Din, reddening a little, “I’m not an expert. He wasn’t considerate enough to grab my ass and remove all doubt. Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“Well, as long as he’s too classy for actual grabassin’ I think we’re okay.”

“I’m probably imagining it anyway,” Din said uncomfortably. 

“Why probably?”

“It just complicates matters, so I’d rather be imagining it.”

Cobb laughed and kissed him. “Can’t blame him for having taste. In fact, as long as he’s respectful, I’d just take the whole thing as a compliment.”

“I guess you must be used to this type of thing. I’m just not going to say anything in case I look stupid.”

“Oh, that’s what I’d do too. As for used to it, no, I’m not exactly used to a situation where my partner’s part of this obscure warrior caste and so’s the other guy but not the same flavour, _plus_ one of us is a marshal, one of us is a reformist crime lord and one of us is trying his damnedest not to be King of Mandalore.”

“Duke.”

“Duke?” Cobb repeated. 

“Apparently. I don’t think they should be able to make you be a duke if you didn’t even know that’s what the job is called. I had to find out about it from Boba.”

“I like how you’re just exasperated with it by now.”

“I just — I just _object_ to being forced to be _important._ What if someone puts me in a history book? I’d look like a fool. I want to stay obscure.”

“Maybe that’s what they’ll put in the book. Din the Obscure. Din the Reluctant. Din the Didn’t Sign Up For This.”

“Cobb the Smartass,” said Din, crossing his arms. 

“A little, sure. Din the Was Trying To Do Something Else At The Time.”

“That probably is the best summary of my life,” Din said ruefully. Somewhere not too far off a gong clanged. 

“We’d better get in there,” said Cobb. “If you notice me getting into a rage about wealth and decadence and shit kick me under the table, would ya?”

That wouldn’t be possible, he saw when the droid had shown them to a relatively small dining room, because there were two tables, a larger one with two chairs and a smaller one fenced off by a folding screen for privacy. Which was considerate, obviously; he’d been wondering how they planned to handle that, if Din would just sit there while the others ate, or if Boba would join him in not eating out of solidarity and he, Cobb, would feel rude and weird sitting there eating with them watching him, or if Din considered this a situation where at least tipping his helmet up enough to eat was okay. The screen hadn’t occurred to him as a possibility. It did mean Din could eat comfortably and still hear and speak to them, but it felt odd to be separated from him like that. He supposed he could ask to sit at Din’s table but then how rude did that look, to leave their host sitting by himself? It seemed Fennec wouldn’t be joining them. 

_Well, look,_ he told himself, _you knew when you took up with a Mandalorian that some things were just going to be different, and this is one of them. He’s worth a little awkwardness._ So he set the bottle of spotchka on the bigger table and said, “This is from us, hope you like it.”

“That’s not a bad drop,” said Boba appreciatively. “Have a seat, you two.” The table was already laid with covered dishes and it seemed he was going to serve them himself. 

“You’re not keeping servants?” Cobb asked, sitting down. Din was sort of hovering nearby, quietly watchful. 

“Don’t need ‘em,” Boba said, piling meat and vegetables onto a bed of hot grains. “I’m not trying to be fancy or entertain a lot of guests. We’ve got a few droids, and I did keep the cook on, with a decent salary, of course. She actually likes her job and she’s damn good at it so everyone’s happy with that. The rest of the people held here have either gone off on their own account or we’re sorting them out with new jobs or training. Had to liquidate a lot of assets to pay for everything, that’s businessman talk for sell shit, but I’m not bothered about running the business into the ground just yet. Get that into you,” he said to Din, handing him the plate. “You need to build yourself up.”

“Thank you,” said Din, retreating behind the screen. Cobb could see a faint shadow through it as he sat down and removed his helmet, the familiar silhouette of his messy hair and curved nose that he found so hopelessly endearing. 

“So you don’t need to eat in private?” he asked Boba. 

“No, I just keep this on for when people try to shoot me in the head,” said Boba, touching the divot in the brow of his helmet. He filled a plate for Cobb and set it in front of him before turning to serve himself. The food smelled mouthwatering; it was familiar Tatooine cooking that you’d expect to see in a home, not a palace, but you could tell at a glance and a sniff that it was made by an expert from the best ingredients, so it was an unusual combination of plain and fancy. And it was cooked by someone who, assuming Boba was truthful, liked her work and was being paid for it, so Cobb felt reassured that he was going to be able to enjoy it without guilt or anger. _One_ thing he’d enjoy here. He kind of liked the plates too, which were multicoloured glass. He decided to help out in return, so he popped the top of the spotchka and filled glasses for himself and Boba, then ducked behind Din’s screen to do the same for him. 

He returned to his seat just as Boba was taking off his helmet. He looked with some interest, since he hadn’t seen his face before, but tried not to gawk. Brown skin, bald head, strong, blunt features, fiercely intelligent dark-brown eyes, and curved patches of scar tissue scattered about at random. It was a face with a lot of character and if it had had eyebrows he thought he’d consider it handsome. Eyebrows made a big difference; a face looked so strange without that apparently unimportant feature. Boba set the helmet on the table to his right and said, “Can I leave that there? Or are you going to take off with it?” He accompanied the words with a hard stare, and Cobb was just opening his mouth in indignation when he saw the glint in Boba’s eye and realised he was teasing. 

“I’ll try to keep my hands off it,” he said, and took a swig of his drink. 

“You’ve had a good look, then,” said Boba, still in a rather challenging tone. “What you imagined?”

“I didn’t imagine anything,” Cobb said, deciding to meet that with his mildest unconcerned tone. “No point. I figured that out with Din. He was nothing like I’d tried to picture.”

“Yeah, what’s his face like? Haven’t seen it myself.”

“If he wanted you to know you’d know. Not for me to say.”

“You’ve got a good one here,” Boba said, angling his head towards the screen. “Discreet.”

“I know,” said Din, who sounded like his mouth was full. He must be enjoying the food; Cobb certainly was.

“But seriously, is he a bit pretty?” Boba asked. “He sounds pretty.”

“Not saying,” said Cobb, amused. He didn’t think Din was pretty at all, that was a word he associated with much younger people. Handsome would do nicely. And with beautiful eyes, but beautiful was different from pretty.

“I sound plain,” said Din. “Which is fine. I’m not trying to attract attention.”

“Said the man who swaggers around in shining armour,” said Boba. “Does he spend a lot of time polishing it? Buffing himself?” he asked Cobb.

“Keep trying to make me embarrass him,” said Cobb, grinning. “But there’s no vanity in Din. That’s one of the things I like about him.”

Whatever Boba would have replied to that was cut off by a door opening and a young woman walking in. She was tall and broad-shouldered and wearing light armour, with a fresh bruise on her smooth brown cheekbone. She was carrying her helmet, so you could see her black hair tied straight back in a high bun. All in all she was pretty striking, and Cobb had no idea who she might be. Boba turned to see her and said, “You’re back early, kiddo,” sounding pleased.

“Yeah, he didn’t put up much of a fight in the end,” she said. “He’s in the dungeon for now, sitting quietly and thinking about what he’s done.”

“Do you want to sit down and eat with us? These are the fellas I told you about, the armour thief from Mos Pelgo and the guy with the kid. You two, this is my daughter Rima,” he added to his guests. 

“No thanks, Dad, I’m beat. See you in the morning.” Rima gave Boba a pat on the shoulder, waved to the other two and left the way she had come. 

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” said Din, unseen.

Boba was still looking towards the door through which Rima had exited; after a moment he seemed satisfied that she was gone and said, “Oh, she’s not really my daughter of course. I’m humouring her about that, or we’re humouring each other.”

“What does that mean?” Cobb asked, puzzled.

“She turned up a few weeks ago and says, ‘Hi, I took a DNA test. You’re my dad.’ I said, ‘You do realise there’s literally thousands of other guys it could be, right?’ She said, ‘Yes, I know, you just seemed like the coolest one.’ I liked her cheek so I told her she could stay. She’s turned out very handy — good tracker, which she had to be to locate me at all. I think I’m going to be proud of that girl.”

“So you just… let her stay and you both pretend she’s your kid?”

“Well, I had her take another test where I could see, to make sure her story wasn’t complete bullshit. If you want to be genetic about it I suppose I’m her uncle, so there’s something there.”

“And you’re sure she’s not yours?” Cobb asked. It sounded like a fishy arrangement and he was surprised that Boba should be such a soft touch for family. He’d seemed like such a hardass.

“The year she must’ve been conceived I was in prison. Of course I keep an eye out just in case she tries to cut my throat while I sleep or something, but I’ve got Fennec watching my back and it’d be a pretty poor look-out if I couldn’t secure my own bedroom. Besides, I’ve got lots of room here. Why not?”

“Why not indeed? Hey, good for you taking responsibility when your brother wouldn’t.” Cobb tipped his glass to Boba. 

“He’s probably dead, whoever he is,” Boba said, shrugging without much concern. “Might not have known about her.”

“You weren’t close to your brothers, I guess?” Din asked from behind his screen. 

“How do you be close to hundreds of matching boys who all grow up faster than you? I was close to my dad.”

“And him? Was he close to them?”

“Again, how? It was different. They were his clones, I was his son. I’m a full genetic copy, no editing, not predisposed to obedience. The few of them I did get to know were very clear that I wasn’t one of them. Fair enough. They didn’t need me and I didn’t need them.”

“They might have needed him,” said Din. 

“What’s your point, _mate?”_ Boba asked. 

“I don’t know, what do you think about a man choosing to have thousands of children made from his DNA and then taking no responsibility for them? Letting them be raised as soldiers?”

“And what were you raised as again?” Boba asked a bit sharply. 

“A warrior. It’s different, I was expected to become independent. Like you. You and I weren’t bred as cannon fodder.”

“Well, you’re bloody cheerful dinner-table company, aren’t you?” Boba said. “Didn’t anyone teach you it’s bad manners to ask a man to judge his late father’s life choices while he’s trying to eat?”

There was a tense pause after which Din said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“You did, but I’m letting it go because I’m a gracious host,” Boba snapped. He didn’t sound like he’d be able to let it go if Din talked back. 

“Hey, I was wondering,” Cobb said quickly, and then had to think fast because he hadn’t really been wondering anything except whether they were about to fight and whether etiquette called for him to just stay out of the way (which felt spineless), try to break it up (his first inclination) or pick a side and help (possibly the most Mandalorian option), “how old are you?” _Well, that was a weird and overly personal question._

Boba raised the skin where his eyebrows would be. “Why?”

“It’s… something I wonder about people,” he said lamely. “I’m bad at guessing ages.”

“I’m not bald because I’m _old,_ I’m bald because a giant worm’s digestive acids burnt my scalp.”

“I didn’t mean,” Cobb began, cursing himself for a fool, but Boba cut him off. 

“Forty-one.”

There was a small spluttering noise from behind Din’s screen. 

“That’s funny?” Boba demanded. 

Din cleared his throat and said, “I thought you were a lot older than me. You talked like you were, like I could be your son.”

“How old _are_ you?” Boba sounded startled. 

“I don’t know exactly, I don’t know my birth year because I forgot a lot from my childhood, but I have to be around about forty.”

Boba looked blank for a moment, then started to laugh. It was a hearty laugh that bent him over for several seconds and when he straightened up his eyes were wet. “So you’re not really young, you’re just... thick!”

“Hey!” said Din reproachfully.

“Oh, heck, I’m sorry, I thought you were… twenty-two tops?”

“How could I be that young? I had my own ship when you met me! I have a full suit of beskar!”

“Well, I thought you were _talented,_ just… you don’t know anything about anything! You’re always out of your depth. When you met me you asked if I was a _Jedi.”_ He bent over again, laughing until he wheezed. 

Cobb bit his lip hard out of loyalty, but the laugh was really fighting to escape, through his nose if his mouth wasn’t an option. He pushed back his chair and went round behind the screen, where Din was red in the face and looking mutinous. “Don’t kick his ass,” Cobb said, holding up one finger to pause him, “because I’m sorry, but this is just really damn funny.”

“Oh, and marshal,” they heard Boba say, “sorry I thought you were a great big chickenhawk, too.”

“Hey!” Cobb exclaimed. 

“Oh, you don’t think that’s funny?” Din asked.

“Well, it’s — it’s fair enough, I guess. If you _were_ just twenty-two. Which you’re not.”

“Ah, I was going to be your mentor,” Boba said, rounding off his laugh with a happy sigh. “Help you on your way. I wouldn’t have bought you a new ship if I’d known you were my age, you can bloody well fend for yourself.”

“You can have it back,” Din said, sounding rather hurt. 

“Don’t be dumb, it’s yours, I’m not taking back a present because I made a mistake.”

“Plus you peed in it,” Cobb reminded Din. 

“What?” said Boba. 

“Oh, in the john. It was a joke we had about making a place your own. Not spraying the walls to mark his territory.”

“So if I’m not half your age, you don’t want to…” Din trailed off, presumably because he realised he was going to say “be friends” and it sounded a little childish. “Help me any more? With Bo-Katan or anything?”

“Oh no, I still want to help,” Boba said. “To stick it to her and the rest of the upper crust, obviously, but come on, I didn’t say I don’t like you any more. Would you not have accepted my help if you didn’t think I was old enough to be your dad?”

“No, I’m grateful for it either way,” Din said.

“There you go then. We’ll just… shift gears a bit. Being equals.”

“Okay. Uh, thank you.” He seemed to have calmed down. 

“Has he got a bit of a thing for older men?” Boba asked, to Cobb presumably. 

“Hey, less of the ‘older men,’ I’m only… eleven years older than you,” Cobb said. 

“No!” Din said, turning red again. “I don’t have a _thing_ for anyone, he’s different.”

“What does that mean? What, he’s your first boyfriend?” Boba sounded incredulous. 

“Dank farrik,” Din muttered, sliding down in his chair and covering his face with both hands. 

“Don’t tease him,” Cobb said, ducking back round the screen and pointing at Boba. “I mean it. It doesn’t matter and if you make a big deal of it, we’ll have to take this outside.”

“What, you’re going to take me on dressed like that?” Boba asked with a derisive snort. 

Cobb looked down at his clothes. “Well, no, either I can get my armour on or you can take yours off.”

“So you can steal it again?” he asked, grinning. 

“I never stole it at all, I traded for it fair and square with no way of knowing it was lost property. Call me a thief again and see what you get.” He couldn’t help half-smiling back, though, because Boba’s grin was surprisingly cheeky and disarming. There was a bright, sharp glint to his eyes that reminded you he was dangerous, but still.

“What _would_ I get?”

“Maybe more than you bargained for.”

“Maybe I like the sound of that.”

 _He thinks we’re flirting,_ Cobb realised, _and I’m a dumbass._ “Well, you’re not calling me a thief again, so we don’t have to find out,” he said, rather limply. He sat back down and addressed himself to his meal, with a guilty awareness that if it wasn’t for Din he would have liked to see where that went. Poor Din was sitting there embarrassed by that “first boyfriend” comment, he shouldn’t have to hear the said boyfriend goofing around like that.

“Was it going to be honourable fisticuffs or blasters at ten paces?” Boba asked. On the basis that Boba clearly considered giving each other shit a mark of friendship, Cobb gave him the bird and kept eating, which made Boba chuckle. 

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” he said genially. “Let’s change the subject. Something Jabba used to do that I’m actually trying to get going again, even if we have to do it underground — the pod races. That’d interest you, wouldn’t it, marshal?”

“It would,” Cobb said, perking up. “That was the one thing I didn’t hate about the old days here. The pod races were spectacular. How’d you know?”

“Well, you’ve got that custom speeder made from a cut-down pod engine. I just went by that. Where’d you get something like that?”

“From a junkyard. The owner tried to charge me a crazy price with this cockamamie story that it used to belong to some boy genius racer. I said I don’t care if it belonged to the Hero With a Thousand Faces, it’s busted and I’m gonna to have to do a lot of work to fix it, and I beat him down in the end.”

That got them started on a topic they could both get into with neither embarrassment or irritation, and they both chattered on enthusiastically, with Din occasionally trying to make a contribution until he got fed up, put his helmet on, came round the screen and confiscated the spotchka, taking it back with him to drink unseen. Cobb let him sulk it out till Boba got done with a story about the most insane move he’d ever seen Sebulba the Dug pull off, then went to check on him. There wasn’t that much left in the bottle when Din took it, because he and Boba had hit it pretty hard, but it was strong and Din’s tolerance for alcohol was pretty terrible as he’d never built it up with social drinking. Cobb had got him tipsy a few times at home and had always been entertained by how little it took and how silly (and oddly sweaty) he got. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest or kindest move to let him get into that condition here. 

He’d probably left it too late enjoying Boba’s story. There were only dregs left in the bottle and Din was red-faced and cloudy-eyed, slouching in his chair and trying to balance his helmet upside down on one finger. 

“You okay, babe?” Cobb asked, leaning on the table. Getting up had made him realise he was probably a little bit tipsy himself. Spotchka snuck up on you, being so smooth. 

“I’m fine being ignored,” Din mumbled. 

“I’m not ignoring you. You’re just invisible. Put your lid on and come out and sit with us. C’mon.” He hauled Din to his feet, pushing the table back, and smacked a kiss on his flushed cheek. “I miss you.”

Din put his helmet on and let himself be pushed back out, dragging his chair with him. He sat next to Cobb, who would have quite liked him to sit on his knee instead, but that would just have embarrassed him more.

“So,” said Boba, as if nothing particular had happened, “you’ve got a lot of empty space out your way and some fun little rock formations. I reckon we could plot out a pretty good course. It’s the middle of nowhere, so if some Republic killjoy wants to enforce those new anti-racing laws they’ll have their work cut out to find it, and I bet your town wouldn’t mind the money it’d bring in. Granted, you get some noise and some mess too, but if you manage it right there’d be a lot more money than either. You in?”

“I’m gonna think about that,” said Cobb, “but it does sound cool. Oh, but we gotta clear it with the local tribe. We just got things going pretty good with them and I don’t wanna wreck all that with a lot of yahoos driving pod racers through their favourite canyon or something.”

“Of course, of course,” said Boba. “We should figure out a way for them to get a piece of the action too. I owe them a lot.”

“For what?” asked Din. 

“Well, my life. Did I never tell you about that?”

“No,” said Din, pulling at the collar of his flight suit and fumbling to loosen it. Cobb could smell his sweat. He really wanted to lean over and kiss the back of his neck, but it wasn’t the time. He tipped back in his chair and stretched his leg out alongside Din’s under the table. 

“Oh, well, I should. That’s right, I just told you how I fell into the sarlacc pit, didn’t I? Sure Shot Solo hits me and I go flying. All right. So.” Boba spread out his hands for illustration; a little slur had crept into his diction (he’d had trouble with the name “Solo” after “shot”), and he was speaking in a more emphatic, deliberate way. “Huuuuuuuuuuge bastard of a worm and I fall right down its gullet. Now, I can’t remember much of what happened after that for a while. I know I was conscious at least part of the time, ‘cos I must have figured out how to blast my way out with some grenades I fortunately had on me, but it’s all a blur, like remembering a horrible fever. I remember heat and crushing pressure and I know I was in the worst pain of my life. The only pain I’ve had that I’d call agony, and that’s saying something.”

“But you can’t really _remember_ pain, can you?” Cobb interrupted. “You _know_ about it but you don’t — like, I remember when I was branded, I _know_ it hurt like hell and I was terrified and I threw up, and I remember the _stink,_ but your memory doesn’t hold pain. It’s weird.”

“It is weird,” said Boba, “but pipe down, I’m doing storytime. So I blasted my way out. I was thrown out onto the sand covered in blood and parasites and worse, and they tell me I was screaming the entire time. _They_ being a mob of Tuskens who were passing by and suddenly got the fright of their lives from the explosion. They were on their way to see if they could salvage stuff from Jabba’s sail barge that had crashed nearby a little while earlier. Now, they saved my life. But to do it they had to strip me off. The acid had leaked inside my armour, my armour and my clothes were holding it on my skin. And the skin was melting, and peeling the clothes and everything off tore it in places, and I screamed so they were pretty sure I was going to die. I was raw and seeping all over. Finally I passed out and they wrapped me up in a robe and carried me off on a bantha, and they took me to a secret cave with a spring in it. I don’t know where, I was unconscious on the way in and they drugged me so I’d sleep when we left, but they poured fresh cold water over me and cleaned my wounds. All over. Now, that is not a small thing, to them. That is a very, very big thing. When I’d recovered enough to talk a bit, a week or two later, I asked them why they’d done so much for a stranger who looked most likely to die. They said they just thought anyone who fought their way out of the sarlacc deserved to survive. There was times when I was recuperating I wished I hadn’t. I hurt all over all the time, too bad to sleep without being doped up, and they didn’t have any bacta, just this goop they make from cactus pulp, which helped a lot but it wasn’t enough to stop the scarring setting in pretty gnarly, and the potions they gave me to stop the pain and infection made me see spots and spirits, and when all the dead skin peeled and took my hair with it, well, I cried like a little bitch. My tattoos were ruined too, all broken up with scars running through them, and I loved my tats. I thought I was gonna look like some melted monster. And sure, hardly anyone would ever see me but I’d _know._ Now, of course _we_ know that I was still quite a handsome fella, but I didn’t have a mirror to tell me that, and anyway I’d never be the same again. It’s a lot to get your head around, that you’ve been physically changed forever. I didn’t look like my dad any more. Then there was the fact that they’d left my armour behind. They assumed it was ruined and they were in a hurry to get me to the cave. Broke my heart, but I couldn’t blame them when they’d gone so far out of their way to save me. I couldn’t go back to look for it for ages, and of course long before then it got picked up by other scavengers and eventually found its way to you. I lived with that tribe for months. Learned a lot from them and did everything I could to help out as I got stronger. That’s the very short version. The long version’s going to be in my book,” he finished up with pride.

“I’d read about that,” said Din.

“So would I,” said Cobb. “I might need to take some breaks from the gross parts about seeping and peeling, but yeah, I would.” Boba looked thoroughly pleased to hear it.

“So… the scars are all over?” Din asked.

“Head to foot. The one big blessing is it didn’t leak right into my jocks — some scars low down on my belly and back and high up on my thighs, but the important stuff escaped. I can’t imagine how bad life could be if I had acid burns on my asshole, let alone up front. I’ve only got one nipple, though. The other one’s just gone. Looks very lopsided. Has this turned into an overshare?” he asked quizzically.

“A little. You’re a little drunk,” said Cobb. “It’s okay though. Happy for you that you didn’t get acid up your ass. Sorry ‘bout your nipple.”

“Well, I wasn’t using it for much,” Boba said philosophically. He seemed to go into a little trance of reminiscence for a moment before snapping back and asking, “Who wants pudding?”

“Just a second,” said Din, getting up. He pulled on Cobb’s arm and brought him out into the corridor they’d entered by, shutting the door behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Cobb asked. “Too much detail about the nipple?”

“No, forget about the nipple. I’m — how would you feel about it if I took my helmet off?” Din asked in an urgent whisper.

“Oh. Uh… well, you know it’s how _you_ feel about it that matters.” He was very surprised, and matched Din’s whisper without really thinking about it..

“Of course it is, but I care about how you feel too. Is it going to bother you if Boba sees me too? Like it bothered you about Mayfeld?”

“Well, I… I…” He couldn’t quite think. “Why do you want to do it now? Are you feeling all close to him or something?”

“Some. Sort of. Also I’m overheating and I feel like I’m going to pass out or throw up if I don’t take it off and get some air.”

“Dumbass,” said Cobb, and pulled it off him for his own good. Din’s face was shiny and his hair was damp, and he pushed it back from his forehead with evident relief. “Is that better?”

“Yeah, it’s better.”

“You don’t have to show him just so you can cool off.”

“I know, I just…” Din gestured vaguely. “You know, he’s showing _me_ and he doesn’t have to. He has his armour back, he could keep his face covered. From his point of view I think he’s showing he trusts me. I feel like I should recip — reship — shiprocate.”

“Baby, if you can’t pronounce it you shouldn’t do it.”

“Reciprocate,” Din said defiantly. 

“My big question is just, are you gonna be sorry when you’re sober?”

“How can I know that when I’m drunk?”

“Damn good point,” Cobb admitted, thumbing his beard.

“You didn’t say if it would bother you.”

“Well… no. No, because it’s your face, and as long as you’re doing what _you_ want with it, what _you_ feel’s right, that should be a good thing, right?”

“And if I do regret it, well, I already blew up my whole life months ago, I can’t make it any worse,” Din said, a little too cheerfully. 

“Oh, now don’t think like that. You can _always_ make it worse if you try.” He kissed Din and pulled him into his arms, feeling his muffled laugh buzz and tickle against his lips. He slid his hands from his back down to squeeze his butt and enjoyed the soft little grunt and sigh in response. “I love you,” he said, “and anyone who gets to see this sweet face is lucky.”

“I love you, and — hey.” Din put his hands to Cobb’s cheeks and looked earnestly into his eyes. “I never knew you threw up.”

“What?”

“When they branded you. Hearing that part really hit me. I’m so sorry anyone hurt you like that, especially when you were just a kid. I wish I could go back and protect you.” There were tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, babe, don’t cry about that. That’s so long ago. I’ve got you protecting me now.” He was very touched, even while he knew they were both being dumb and Din’s tipsy focus was apparently jumping around like a flea.

“I would. I want a, a time machine, and I’ll go and get you so you don’t have to go through any of that, and I’ll get Boba when his dad dies, and I’ll keep you both safe.”

“Din, you’re a sweet, sweet man, and you’re so drunk. Then you’d have the two of us as kids. Where would the grown-up us be?”

“Here.”

“No, ‘cause our lives would all have been different.”

“Oh shit.”

“And you are a great dad, but I really, _really_ don’t want you to be _my_ dad.” He kissed him, tasting his boozy mouth.

“No,” said Din, with feeling, and kissed back and wrapped his arms around him. “No, no, no.” They swayed together and bumped into the wall. They were just sinking into the kiss and forgetting anything else was going on when they heard a sharp rap on the door and both startled. 

“What are you two whispering about out there?” Boba called out.

“Secrets,” Cobb called back.

“I’m getting the pudding.”

“You do that.”

“Do you want ice cream on yours?”

“You’ve got _ice cream?”_

“Hell yes I’ve got ice cream. I’m the underworld kingpin of Tatooine, I’ve got _three flavours_ of ice cream.” 

“Do you want ice cream?” Cobb whispered to Din, because he’d got stuck in the idea that their conversation needed to be whispered.

“I’d have some ice cream,” Din whispered back.

“Yeah, we want ice cream,” Cobb called back to Boba.

“Good.” They heard him walk off. 

“What should we do?” Cobb whispered. 

“Talk normally now?” Din suggested. 

“Okay, how do you want to play it in there?”

“I… I rethought it. I’m not taking it off, that would be too much all at once, but I want to sit and eat with you two. I’ll just lift it a little, that’ll be okay.”

“Well, all right then.”

They went back to their seats, and Din sat there looking like he was waiting to see the dentist. Cobb tried to make himself useful by stacking up the dinner dishes. It was a strange, homey kind of dinner to have in this room — a relatively small one but still all tricked out with gaudy decorations and bobbly hanging lamps that looked like a pain in the ass to dust. Naturally getting all the ugly crap out wasn’t a high priority compared with everything else Boba had going on, but it would be so satisfying just to open a window and pitch things out onto the cliffs below. Maybe he’d ask if they could do that after dessert, for a little entertainment.

The far door opened and Boba backed through it carrying a tray. “I am not cut out to wait tables,” he muttered, bringing it over and slapping it down. “Why’d I decide to play the gracious host?” It held three bowls and a bottle of wine which he busied himself opening. He cast a glance sideways at Din, still in his seat, helmet on. 

“Not going back in?” he asked. 

“I think I’ll stay here,” said Din. “I appreciated it, but in this situation I didn’t want to feel separate like that. I mean I don’t think I need to be. Not as strictly as that. Not with you two.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Boba. “Nice to see you treating the place like home. Now try that before it all melts together.” He put a bowl down in front of him. 

The dessert was a syrupy, spiced, steamed pudding with blobs of brown, pink and green ice cream melting over it, the contrast between hot and cold mingling in their mouths and alternately threatening to burn their tongues or make their teeth ache. Cobb kept glancing sideways at Din, finding he was acutely conscious of the little glimpses of his mouth when he tipped up the helmet, and the thought of his lips and tongue on the spoon. Apparently that kind of peekaboo stuff still did it for him, whether because it reminded him of the start of their relationship, because he was tipsy and thus easily titillated, or just because he’d been kissing Din a few minutes ago and had to stop. 

After a few mouthfuls Din put down his spoon and gestured to Boba, _The tribe taught you to sign?_

Boba answered, indistinctly because he kept his spoon tucked between his thumb and his palm, _Knew some already but got fluent with them._

_I’m teaching Cobb. He’s getting better._

_Good for you._

_Thank you for everything you’re sharing with us. I’m enjoying it. I want you to know I feel comfortable with you._ His manner was so sweet and earnest as he signed that out, Cobb didn’t see how Boba could feel anything but charmed. 

_This is just for close family, right?_ Boba gestured to his own face and jerked a thumb towards Cobb.

 _Right. I would like us to feel like family someday. If that isn’t —_ and then some sign Cobb didn’t know.

“What was that, babe?” he asked. “The last word or so.”

“Oh, if that isn’t presumptuous,” said Din.

“It’s not presumptuous,” Boba said, and in his voice there was something that didn’t come through from his steady face or hands, a very slight husk that suggested he was a bit touched by the whole thing. “Maybe a bit cheeky. But as you know, I tend to like cheek.” He cleared his throat and returned his attention to his bowl. For a few moments they all quietly did the same.

“I truly don’t remember the last time I tasted ice cream,” Cobb mused, “except I think it was when I was a little kid. My daddy used to make some money from side jobs when he could, so he probably got it for me as a treat. It was kind of a point of pride for him, to be able to give his kid a treat from time to time, like a free man.”

“We’ve got bloody tragic life stories, haven’t we?” said Boba with a dry laugh, pouring the wine, inadvisably, over the dregs of spotchka in their glasses. “I saw my dad get murdered, you grew up in slavery, he was orphaned in the war before last — we should be three of the most miserable bastards alive.”

“Well, yeah, but we did all _have_ parents, at least one, up till we lost ‘em, and they loved us, right? I think that’s important. That’s how you learn to love someone else, and I’ll always say it, folks loving each other is what makes life worthwhile. I think if somebody’s loved you, and you can love other people, you don’t have to be miserable. You may be hurt and lonely and mad a lot, but you know how to be happy too,” he finished up, feeling pleased with that slice of personal philosophy. 

“Are you meaning to drip melted ice cream down your front?” Boba asked. 

“Damn it.” He’d neglected his loaded spoon while philosophising, and it was dribbling in the folds of his scarf. He popped the spoon in his mouth while Din helpfully leaned over and wiped him with a napkin. That brought back the memory abruptly — he hadn’t been prepared for how fast ice cream would melt and had got it all over himself then too, and his father had had to wipe him off, and he’d felt bad for wasting the treat and nearly cried, but the wipedown tickled his face and he’d ended up laughing. Now he was in danger of crying again because the memory was so strong and sweet and sad. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Din asked softly. 

“This is a real weird night, isn’t it?” he asked, sniffed back the impending tears and laughed. “It’s nothing.”

“Drink up,” Boba suggested, draining his own glass and refilling it. 

“Cheers,” said Cobb, lifting his glass, “and hey, here’s to better memories.” 

“Better memories.” They all drank. _I should stop sometime,_ Cobb thought. He wasn’t drinking to get drunk but he was enjoying feeling lightheaded, warm and giddy. What he really wanted was to pull Din onto his lap; he couldn’t get his mind off that idea, holding him there and kissing him and squeezing his ass. It wasn’t that he wanted to show off to Boba so much as that he could forget he was there. He was moving his leg to press his knee against Din’s under the table when Din got up.

“I need a leak,” he said briefly, and walked out with a slight sway in his gait. Cobb swung his chair back a bit to watch him go, nearly tipped it over, and as he righted himself noticed Boba watching Din leave too. He wondered if it was for the same reason (it was a nice back view) or more like watching Rima leave to be sure she was gone before he spoke. It could easily be both. The sound of Din’s footsteps faded.

“You really thought he was twenty-two?” Cobb asked. He might as well try to wrong-foot Boba a little for once. 

“Early twenties,” Boba said with a shrug. 

“You said tops,” Cobb said, wagging a finger. 

“Yeah, all right,” said Boba, “is a man allowed one mistake?”

“It’s a fun mistake,” Cobb said, grinning.

“So are you his man or are you going to keep flirting with me?” Boba asked, sitting back and raising his lack of eyebrows.

“I’m his man. But you started it, mister. And okay, I saw you were surprised when he asked for the same room, you didn’t know we were together, but that hasn’t stopped you, now has it?”

“Maybe I’m just messing with you,” Boba said. Another shrug.

“Okay. You _were_ surprised, though. Although you know he lives with me. Even if you didn’t want to assume, you must’ve thought it was possible, right?”

“Well, that was another mistake. I assumed not. Not really sure why. Maybe I thought you’d also see him as really young, someone to take under your wing.” Boba frowned, looking puzzled at his own thoughts. “And I guess in a weird way I was thinking of you as mine.”

“Yours?” Cobb asked, surprised. 

“Not in a lovey-dovey way,” Boba said dismissively. “You were _my_ enemy, my pain in the ass, wearing my armour that’s part of _me._ And then I get it back and by then it’s part of you too because you wore it so long. The whole lining smelled of you, your sweat, the stuff you use on your hair. I still get little whiffs in the helmet sometimes. So that was sort of… you were in a private place with me, kind of thing. Like if we both slept in the same bed but you worked days and I worked nights and we didn’t see each other coming or going. And all my clothes smelled like you when I put them on. It gave me this fake feeling of knowing you or being connected to you. Yeah, I think that was it. Stopped me seeing the obvious, because it seemed like you were there for me to move on or pass on, and you wouldn’t be available to someone else till I passed.” He gave a kind of harrumph of embarrassment. “Stupid, self-centred way to think, of course.”

“You know if it wasn’t for Din you could’ve been on to something there. But I love him, and he suits me down to the ground. I just say that because maybe you’ll feel a little less stupid about it, knowing you weren’t just imagining you’d have a chance.” He still thought Boba was being more than a little weird about it, but he was also kind of touched, not to say flummoxed, by the intimacy of him admitting to it. Was he only saying all that because he’d had too much to drink or was this how he liked to approach someone?

“I guess that’s kind of you.” Boba stirred in his chair. “He’s taking a long time for a piss.”

“I hope he didn’t get lost or fall downstairs. He can’t hold his liquor.” Cobb got up and swayed a moment. “I’m gonna go look for him.” 

“You don’t know your way around any more than he does. I’ll come with you.” Boba pushed himself up with a grunt, then said ruefully, “I never used to make a noise just because I got up.”

“When I’ve had a rough day I make a noise because I sat down,” Cobb said sympathetically. “You know that noise of ‘now I let go and sat, I can’t get up for at least half an hour, someone better bring me a beer?’”

“And I suppose he brings you a beer?”

“I did say he suits me down to the ground,” Cobb said, heading out the door Din had gone through.

“So what do you do for him? Or do you just sit there and get waited on?” Boba asked, following.

“Of course not. We take care of each other. I’m the cook. You’re not the only one who wants to make sure he eats right. Was it this way?”

“I think so,” said Boba. 

“You don’t really know either, do you? You just didn’t wanna sit there by yourself.”

“That’s right,” said Boba coldly. “Make fun of the lonely single man for being lonely and single.”

“Oh hell, I’m sorry,” Cobb said, his face falling. “I thought I could —” He saw the glint of laughter in Boba’s eye and exclaimed, “You jerk!” Boba turned away from him, giggling, apparently if they were drunk enough big scary scar-faced bounty hunters turned kingpins _giggled,_ and he socked him in the arm in retaliation.

“You know what a dangerous thing you just did?” Boba asked, but he was still giggling which undercut the threat a bit. 

“Please, I’m not afraid of you now. I’ve seen you eating ice cream.” Cobb leaned against the wall.

“What, eating ice cream means I’m not dangerous?”

“Oh, you’re very dangerous, I’m just not afraid of you.”

Boba stepped up closer, locked eyes with him and stared, and he was suddenly reminded of a time he’d walked into what he’d confidently thought was an empty cave and heard a deep growl echoing from the back. It had felt like his whole skin suddenly got a size too tight and he had backed out of there so fast he nearly fell over. This was… like that and not, because he wasn’t backing up. “Well, don’t be like that about it,” he said softly. 

“We’d better stop,” Boba said, with his face very close to Cobb’s, “or it’ll feel like we’re not just mucking around.”

“No, that’s… that’s a good point. Okay,” Cobb said, wilting a bit. “Let’s just both step back a bit.”

“Right.” Boba retreated to the other wall.

“Sorry, getting carried away there.” 

“It’s as much my fault as yours.”

“I was just flattered, I guess.”

“Well, me too.” He actually did look lonely, just a flicker of it in his eyes, as he said, “Looking like I do now, I wasn’t sure…”

“But you’re still quite a handsome fella, you said it yourself.”

Boba cleared his throat. “I was trying to sound confident. It’s not just my face. My body changed because I was laid up a long time, or because I’m hitting middle age. I never used to have a gut. I thought it’d go away once I got back into fighting shape but it doesn’t shift. If you see me like I am now and you still think, oh yeah, not bad, then at least someone else could too, right?”

“I know what you mean. When my hair went grey —”

“Oh, piss off, you turning into a silver fox isn’t the same.” He said it with good humour, though. “Let’s find your idiot.”

They found Din sitting on the floor in the doorway of their room with the loth cat in his lap. “Your cat likes me,” he reported proudly to Boba.

“That’s not my cat. It just lives here,” said Boba. He squatted down and held out his forefinger to the cat, which ignored him in favour of Din scratching behind its ears. “I tried chucking it out but it found its way back in. Come on, I’ve got something else I want to show you two.” 

“C’mon, babe,” Cobb said, offering Din his hand and pulling him to his feet, dislodging the cat. Din slung an arm around his waist, so he put one around his shoulders as they followed Boba back. He felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t as if he’d done anything really wrong, just exchanged some unwise eye contact. Probably a good idea to have a talk when they were both calm and sober about what to do when someone else liked one of them, or for that matter one of them, however briefly or mildly, liked someone else. He’d been loving the all-wrapped-up-in-each-other stage they were in but sooner or later there was always someone. Did Din realise that, or was he going to feel like something was wrong if they even noticed other people? Right now he just seemed to feel cuddly and a little goosey. 

Boba led them back to the dining room, where he grabbed the wine bottle from the table by its neck, then out through another door and onto a staircase. This was one of the things about the palace that made it disorientating; there seemed to be multiple doors in and out of almost every room and it was hard to remember whether you were going to step into a corridor or a flight of stairs — or the shaft of the one elevator that had been installed at great expense about two hundred years ago and which only the Hutts and their chosen guests were allowed to use. Cobb had seen servants that Jabba would want to help him again at the floor where he slithered out sent to run up or down the zig-zagging and spiralling stairs to meet him — and get punished if they were late. They were climbing one of those zig-zagging staircases now, a narrow one where Din had to fall back to walk just behind him, and he felt a jab of the old anger and revulsion, together with an echo of the fear he’d felt when his owner had been one of the favoured guests and he had to run like hell _but also not be visibly out of breath or dishevelled_ when he met them. It was a rule designed purely for the pleasure of being able to punish powerless people who couldn’t do the impossible. 

He was lifted right out of these painful reflections by a swat on his backside. He looked behind him to see Din had slipped into the playful dumbass phase of being drunk. 

“Oh, you’re looking for trouble now?” he asked, grinning. 

“I never look for it,” said Din, “it’s right in front of me, and it needs to walk faster,” and nearly stepped on his heel trying to get close enough to do it again. He landed another swat and laughed. 

“What’s going on back there?” Boba asked, toiling up the stairs ahead of them and puffing slightly. He hadn’t seemed out of breath at all after the practice fight; did he just hide it? 

“Dumbassery,” said Cobb with a chuckle. Din swatted him again and he said, “Hey! I’m paying you back for those.”

“Yeah? When?”

“When you least expect it.”

“Look at us, we’re in love,” said Boba in a weird little nasal mocking voice. 

“Yep, and we’re the kind of happy assholes who assume anyone who finds us annoying is just jealous,” said Cobb. 

“Swat him on the ass too so he doesn’t feel left out,” Din suggested. 

“You trying to get me kicked down the stairs?” Cobb asked. 

“Nobody slaps my ass,” Boba said. “And we’re here.” He opened the door and led them out onto a kind of broad ledge at the edge of one of the castle’s domes. It was hard to tell what it had been built for — not as a viewing deck for the Hutts, because only a juvenile could have got through the door that opened onto it, so maybe it was to give access to repair or clean the dome itself. It was big enough that you could easily stand back from the edge, indeed, Cobb could have laid flat on his back across the space, but high enough that the emptiness beyond it seemed to pull you out. There was no railing or raised edge to stop you just stepping out there, if you were foolish enough. 

Boba had sat down on the edge with his feet dangling, and was taking a swig from his bottle. The night was dark and clear and the sky was like handfuls of diamonds scattered across blue-black velvet. The moons seemed to float low enough that you could jump up and slap them. It was a breathtaking view, unobstructed for miles around. Cobb shuffled sideways a few paces and sat down with his back against the slope of the dome, and just looked up. He felt Din settle in beside him, and give a shiver at the cold fresh air touching his neck as he tilted his head back. He tipped it sideways on Cobb’s shoulder and the two of them stared pie-eyed at the stars. 

“This is a better view than out the back of our house,” said Din quietly. 

“Love that you call it our house,” Cobb said. 

“You said it was.”

“Well, this is my house,” Boba said. “Just mine.” He didn’t really sound like he was celebrating the fact. 

“Well, don’t fall off the roof,” Cobb said, “or I guess it’ll be Fennec’s house. Hey, come back over here, you’re making me nervous.”

“Fine,” Boba grunted, and scooted himself back to sit beside Din. He passed him the bottle, and he tipped up his helmet and sipped from it before passing it along to Cobb. “You’re a lightweight, aren’t you?”

“Just not used to it,” Din said. “There’s a _lot_ of things I’m not used to. It’s nice getting there, though.”

“Like what?”

“Like… feeling stuff about people. Opening up my heart.” He gave a little chuckle at the phrase. “That sounds cheesy. Having someone to live with, someone who expects me to be there, someone who would miss me… I never expected that to be for me.”

“Lucky ol’ me,” said Cobb, and pulled at the bottle. 

“You two are…” Boba made a kind of rueful scoffing noise and reached across Din to take the bottle back from Cobb. 

“Annoying?” Din suggested, sounding like he was smiling. 

“I think you know what I mean about this,” said Boba slowly, “and knowing you’re my age it’s more likely that you do. You turned off your feelings, didn’t you? Years ago?”

“To me it felt more like they went away or wore off,” said Din, “but yes.”

“So you’re proof that someone can turn them back on and they’ll still work,” Boba said, and there was a keen edge to his voice. 

“Uh-huh.”

“It kept me alive.”

“Me too.”

“For a long time.”

“Me too.”

“But then you just decided, ‘Oh I’m going to care about this cute little green shit,’ and you just _did.”_

“Oh. No, no, I didn’t just decide. I went back and forth and round and round. I only accepted I cared about him when I realised I had no choice, I couldn’t _not_ care any more. I gave him over to the old Imp who put the bounty on his head, I got my reward and went away, I felt like scum through and through and then I went and kidnapped him back. And we nearly died, but my covert broke their cover and gave up their own safety to protect us. People care about you when there’s someone you care about. All of a sudden I was making _friends._ People were going out of their way to _help me._ It was weird.” He gave a little shudder and then a tipsy laugh. 

“I’m trying to do what you did, but it feels like I’m only copying the outside of it and the inside isn’t there,” Boba said quietly. Then he fixed them both with a glare and growled, “Either of you ever repeat this conversation and I’ll bring you back up here and throw you off.”

Din looked unconcerned. “I don’t even know anyone who would want to hear about that.”

“Man, I don’t even know anybody that knows you,” said Cobb. 

“That’s not true, babe, you know Fennec and Cara,” Din said helpfully. 

“Oh. Well, I still have no reason to tell ‘em.”

They were all quiet for a minute, watching the blinking passage of some kind of satellite overhead. 

“What do you mean?” Din asked Boba. “The inside and the outside. And why are you trying to copy me?” He leaned over and said in a confidential tone, “Have you noticed I don’t really have my act together?”

“No, but — look, I died, right? I basically died. And then I got to live some more, in horrible pain at first, and I spent all that time healing up with nothing to do but think, and I thought, was _that_ my life? If it had ended right there, who’d give a damn? Clients who couldn’t use me any more? I had no close friends. I had no family. I could be remembered for being the best at what I did, but that’s it — and before long there’d be someone better. So I came up with a new plan. I wanted to be remembered for change. Be a reformer. Still be a badass, because that’s what I _am_ and it’s no good working against your own nature, but in the service of something bigger. Honour my father by being more than a repeat of him. You see?”

“Uh-huh,” said Din. 

“So I worked out my plan, how I needed to get myself healthy again, I needed to get allies, I needed to get my armour back, then I’d do _this._ ” He waved at everything around them. “But in the process I met _you,_ and you shook me up. You’re right. I cared about you because of how much you cared about him. You were — it was beautiful. I put my plan on hold to help you because someone like you deserves help. And I…” He trailed off. “But _do_ I care about you? When I was imagining you as someone else, this bright young fool starting out who I could mentor? And how do I do it? I just… buy you stuff and try to impress you with my big tacky house? I don’t know how to care about someone the way you do. So who’s going to care about me?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck forget I said that.”

“No, come on. I care about you. I like you,” said Din. “I’m not just saying that. Here.” To Cobb’s surprise, he fumbled a little with his helmet and lifted it off. “Look at my face. You know I don’t do this for just anyone, right?”

“You don’t have to do it for me,” Boba said, looking startled. 

“Well, right now I want to. And if I regret it, well, I’ll just hit you on the head so you forget it.”

“Well… okay,” said Boba. “Thanks, I guess.” He peered at Din curiously. 

“I’m afraid this is it,” said Din. “I don’t have a better face on under this one.”

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” Boba said. “You don’t look too bad at all.”

“Do you feel better?” Din asked. 

“I’m being pathetic,” Boba mumbled. He took a deep swig from the bottle.

“You wouldn’t be so pathetic if you didn’t really care,” said Din. He paused, apparently running that back by himself, and said, “That didn’t sound how I meant it. If you — if you care, if you try to turn your feelings back on, you might look stupid or pathetic. You might get yourself hurt. If that happens it _hurts_ but it means you _are_ caring. The problem you’re having… is proof that what you’re doing’s working. I think?” He turned to Cobb. “You’re better at this than I am, did that sound true?”

“I thought it sounded true,” said Cobb. “What do you want for doing this, Boba? What would mean it had worked?”

Boba shrugged. “If I love someone and they love me.”

“You can do that. Of course you can do that, c’mon. Don’t sell yourself short.” He leaned across Din’s legs and patted Boba’s knee. 

“Or if I can just get laid, I would settle for that for a start,” Boba said pragmatically. “Closest I’ve been to getting intimate with anyone in the last few years was putting Fennec’s guts back together.”

Din and Cobb both uttered cries of protest. 

“Well, it’s true!” he said.

“We were talking honestly about big scary feelings and love and stuff and you had to bring _guts_ into it,” Cobb lamented. “Anyhow, she seems to like you, is that any good to you?” He leaned over to confiscate the bottle and swigged from it.

“Nah. Even if she was my type, well, I put her in my debt on purpose. Back then my thinking was that was the only way I could be sure of getting the kind of loyalty I needed. You’re probably gonna think this part is disgusting.”

“Is it about guts?”

“Not directly. The implants I got her, the life-support stuff. I put in a kill switch. So if she turned on me I just had to push a button.”

“You’re right,” said Cobb, dismayed. “That is disgusting. That’s treating her like a slave.”

“I know. I did figure that out. I deactivated it. I can only say, try and understand that all my experience for the last thirty-odd years is that you can’t trust anyone but yourself. Anyone who says they want to help you is either going to let you down because they can’t help it, or fuck you over when it suits them. I want to believe there’s something better than that… I still slipped back into thinking that way about Fen, for a while. And she deserves better. Anyone does, but she’s just great. I’m lucky I found her while she was still warm.”

“That’s such a macabre thing to say with such genuine affection,” Cobb mumbled.

“I never understand people wanting to just get laid,” said Din, like he’d been thinking about it for a while. “I mean, I believe you that you do but I don’t get the appeal at all.”

“What are you on about?” Boba asked.

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do,” Cobb said. “My ass can bear witness.” Boba snorted.

“I’m in love with him,” Din explained. “That was the first time I actually wanted to have sex, because I fell in love with him.”

“What, like… you think it’s wrong if you’re not in love?” Boba asked incredulously.

“No, like I don’t feel any inclination for it. Like when… you’re not hungry. No, that doesn’t really work because people need to eat to live. But if you can ignore that, it’s like when there’s food on offer and it’s not that you think it’s gross or anything, you just don’t have an appetite. You don’t need any. No thanks, I’m good. Like that. Of course then you get some jerk insisting you’d like this food if you tried it, and why don’t you want any, and do you think you’re too good for it, and you think you know what, maybe you would like the taste of it _if you were hungry_ but you’re not!” He stopped sheepishly. “That’s… been annoying sometimes.”

“Sounds like it,” said Boba. 

“Hey, I didn’t know that,” said Cobb. “I knew you hadn’t done it, but I thought that was because you were sticking real close to your creed.”

“The fact I didn’t want to made it easier to stick to it. I did sometimes wish I could touch someone or they’d hold me, but just that,” Din said and shrugged. “I got these little, mild crushes, sometimes a little tickle of curiosity about what it might be like with a particular person, but they went away. Then I met you and I got a big, strong crush and it all grew out of that.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Cobb said, feeling very pleased with himself. 

“I didn’t think it mattered when I did want to with you,” Din said. “And I was already embarrassed about being inexperienced and clingy and touch-starved, I didn’t want to admit I never really understood the point of what we were doing before. I was already coming off so weird.”

“Well, I guess it didn’t _matter,_ but you didn’t have to hide it either. I’d take it as a compliment. I made your stomach growl. Hold on though, something I don’t get.”

“Yeah?”

“Were you fibbing to not sound so weird when you said you jacked off, or was that true?”

“No, that’s true.”

“Why would you want to do that if you didn’t want to have sex?”

“Because it’s… it’s not the same? It doesn’t do the same thing to me.”

“What, you don’t get hard or come?” Boba asked, looking baffled. 

“No, I do, I — listen, this is just different, all right? It was more like… comforting myself. I started doing it when I was a kid with no idea what sex was. It felt really good and I relaxed and slept better afterward. And I have hormones like anyone else. They have to go somewhere.”

“Well, you and me are opposites,” said Boba, “because I can fuck without even liking the other guy.” He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. “That doesn’t sound too good, does it. Like I’ll eat out of the garbage.”

“As long as you’re on the same page, who cares?” said Cobb. “If both of you just want to fuck, no harm no foul. But anyway, weren’t you talking about wanting to love someone like Din loves his kid? That seemed like it was more of a thing.”

“Yeah, originally. I didn’t want a _little_ kid, though. Couldn’t handle that. I thought, maybe I’ll grow to love _him_ like that. Or Rima. Find that inner dad. But maybe I don’t have that in me. I _like_ Rima. I want to help her get a good start in life. I’m proud of how smart and tough she is. I don’t think I love her. And as for Din, well, I was thinking, ‘You should try to feel all fatherly and mentorly,’ but I always had one eye on his ass.”

“I _told_ you there was a tone,” Din said to Cobb. He took the bottle from him and drank.

“What?” said Boba.

“Din thought you were subtly hitting on him earlier,” said Cobb. “Of course, I thought you were hitting on _me._ Because you were. Not subtly.”

“I didn’t actually ask you here so I could sleaze up to you,” Boba said, looking abashed. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much, but I was nervous. I didn’t know how to be with you.”

“I would _not_ have thought you were nervous,” said Cobb with a chuckle.

“Well, would I show it? Me?”

“Fair point.”

“The thing is,” Din put in, “it didn’t feel sleazy. It flustered me a little, I felt shy and awkward, but I didn’t hate it. And I normally hate it when anyone I don’t like comes on to me, it’s just a nuisance. I don’t feel about you like I feel about Cobb but the idea you were interested in me like that didn’t feel _bad._ And Cobb doesn’t mind either, he thinks it’s just a compliment.”

“Where are you going with that, partner?” Cobb asked, puzzled. 

“Just that I’m not offended or anything. He shouldn’t feel bad.”

“And you’re not mad that I was trying it on with him?” Boba asked. 

“I guess not? I mean, if it’s just like a compliment. You weren’t seriously trying to take him away from me, were you?”

“No. I was just seeing what kind of reaction I could get. If any.”

“And?” Din turned his head and poked Cobb in the ribs with his elbow. “What kind of reaction did he get?”

“I liked the attention, that’s all.”

“I can’t get too worked up about that,” Din concluded. “If I felt like you were really being disrespectful that’s different.”

“Well, that’s a relief, because this would be a terrible place to have a fight,” said Boba. “Haven’t got my jetpack on, left my helmet on the table, bit drunk, you could finish me off with a good hard shove. What a crappy way to die. I already had one embarrassing death. No thank you.”

“If I ever need to kill you, I promise I’ll make it look good,” said Din, patting him on the knee. 

“Thanks. Same to you.”

“I’m just gonna assume that’s normal,” muttered Cobb. 

“We’re having a joke, marshal, we mad Mandos do have jokes,” Boba said. 

“My death jokes don’t always go over well,” Din said thoughtfully. “I have noticed that.”

“Do you find it’s hard to get on with him?” Boba asked Din. “Bit of a culture clash?”

“Haven’t had a problem with it yet. He’s always been pretty respectful and understanding. We’ve only had one fight and it was about toilet paper.”

“Toilet paper,” Boba repeated. 

“Okay, don’t say that without any context,” said Cobb. “It wasn’t really a fight about toilet paper, it was a fight about both of us being tired and fed up after working all day digging out houses and fixing up damage after the sandstorm. The toilet paper was just the flashpoint.”

“How did you fight about _toilet paper?”_

“Well,” said Din, “I don’t care how the toilet paper hangs as long as there is some. Cobb —”

“Likes it to hang the right way,” said Cobb. 

“You think… there’s a right and a wrong way to hang up toilet paper? Is he always like this?” Boba asked. 

“I just like it hanging overhand,” said Cobb. “It’s not hard to do.”

“But I got in the habit of hanging it underhand because if it was overhand Grogu liked to bat at it and he’d unwind the whole roll. Have you ever had to pick up an entire roll of toilet paper woven in and out of everything you own by a giggling toddler while you were sleeping?” Din asked.

“Well, you never explained _that,”_ Cobb said. That sounded awfully cute and also incredibly annoying. 

“Because I was tired and had blisters on my hands and you were being a hardass about toilet paper and I just wanted to take a nap before we had to go out again.”

“Instead you put on this snotty voice and said, ‘I’m the toilet marshal, I arrest you for toilet paper crimes’ — which, okay, was pretty funny,” he admitted with a little snort.

“And you called me an intransigent sonofabitch and went off to sulk somewhere.”

“And _then_ we had to drag ourselves out to the town barbecue that evenin’ and Din hadn’t had enough of a nap so he was as crabby as a Wookiee with fleas,” Cobb went on. “But the thing you have to bear in mind is that we are the only two people in Mos Pelgo, maybe on Tatooine, who hate the Max Rebo Band.”

“The kriffing Max Rebo Band,” Din echoed, and they exchanged a smile. 

“And like night follows day, at a barbecue on Tatooine you are going to hear the _kriffing_ Max Rebo Band’s greatest hits. I don’t think anyone ever considers not putting it on.”

“So we were standing there trying to be good sports and celebrate with these good people,” said Din, “both just… stewing. And ‘Lapti Nek’ comes on.”

“And our eyes met, and we started to laugh, and we were reunited and reconciled by our shared, endless hatred of the Max Rebo Band,” Cobb concluded. He took Din’s hand with a clap and felt him squeeze back. 

“You two are…” Boba began.

“Annoying?” Cobb asked, smiling.

“Philistines. The Max Rebo Band is great.”

“No!” they exclaimed together. 

“Just for that, I should use my share of the Gideon bounty to fund a reunion tour,” said Boba.

“Oh, you gave him that?” Cobb asked.

“Yeah, it’s taken care of,” said Din.

“And you see how he’s using it?”

“Don’t worry, he can’t raise the dead.”

“Is Max Rebo dead?”

“Well, if he’s not…” Din said, and shrugged meaningfully.

“If you murder Max Rebo you’ll make more powerful enemies than just me,” said Boba. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Think twice.”

“Okay then. I promise not to murder Max Rebo. Just for you.” He tapped Boba on the chest. 

“We killed the bottle,” Cobb said, tipping it up to make sure. “Hey, if I hucked this out real far, you think you could shoot it?”

“I could try,” said Din.

“You couldn’t hit a flying bottle sober,” said Boba.

“You want to bet?”

“I will bet you one shiny credit you can’t hit a flying bottle.”

“You’re on. Throw it, babe.”

“Wait wait wait,” said Cobb, “I think you should _both_ try to shoot it. Get up. Ready to draw. You all set?” He glanced at the two of them, poised despite everything, pulled his arm way back and flung the bottle high and far into the dark. There were two blaster shots at almost the same moment and the bottle burst in a shower of sparks and glittering glass. Cobb whooped. 

“That was mine,” said Boba, spinning his pistol round his forefinger and dropping it back into the holster.

“In your dreams,” said Din. “I shot first.”

“That doesn’t mean you hit it.”

“So let’s go again,” Cobb suggested. “Best out of three. There’s a ton of ugly knick-knacks in this place. Let’s blow stuff up.”

“I like how you think,” said Boba.

They split up and made a brief ransack of the nearest rooms, returning with arms full of vases, statuettes and general kitsch which they heaped up together and proceeded to destroy with great vigour and enjoyment. Neither Boba nor Din could agree on who hit what and neither was prepared to concede any point, but they certainly made a lot of junk explode. There was a certain amount of trick shooting and Cobb was agreeably aware that they were both trying to impress him. 

“What even is this?” Din asked, holding up a bulky blown-glass object that Boba had brought in.

“Hutt dildo,” said Boba.

“Ugh,” said Din, dropping it. 

“It is not, you turn it the other way up and smoke spice in it,” said Cobb. 

“It’s multipurpose,” said Boba. “You need the spice to get you squiffy enough to fuck the Hutt.”

“Let’s please never use the word ‘fuck’ near ‘Hutt,’” said Cobb. 

“To get you squiffy enough to _pleasure_ the Hutt.”

“How the _hell_ is that worse? That’s so much worse. Someone please shoot the damn dildo.” He flung it, badly because it was heavy and an awkward shape, and Din courteously shot it down while Boba was laughing at how disgusted Cobb was. They saved the best for last, a truly hideous multicoloured glass sculpture of some ancestral Hutt — Boba said it was called Zoot, which was probably about as true as the dildo story — which exploded in an incredibly gratifying manner. 

“That was fun,” said Boba, “I should have yahoos over more often.” He sat down on the edge of the ledge with his legs dangling again. 

“Get off of there,” said Din, grabbing him under the arms and trying to drag him back. “I don’t know how far it is down to the bottom but you want to land on all that broken glass?

“I’d go splat on the rocks,” said Boba, “the glass would be the least of my worries.” He let Din pull him back from the edge until he seemed to feel he’d done enough and dropped down to sit behind Boba with his legs splayed out on either side. 

Din dropped his forehead against Boba’s back and said, “Well, I can’t let you fall to your death because that would be embarrassing for you, and because Fennec would most likely try to avenge your death and I don’t want to kill her, and because we’re friends, and because if it looked like I killed you and your second in command, people would think I was in charge, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Boba laughed. “Collecting planets to rule. Tatooine’s a step up from Mandalore. I think that might be the first time Tatooine’s counted as an upgrade on anything.”

“Hey, on behalf of my home planet I have to say… probably,” said Cobb. He sat down in the same way behind Din and hugged his back. 

“Please help me fight Bo-Katan just exactly well enough that I’m clearly not throwing the fight but she can still beat me,” Din mumbled. “I don’t want a cursed glass planet. I don’t want to be in charge. I like living in a little house with my partner and making him coffee in the morning. I like being the deputy. If I just had my kid too I’d be perfectly happy. How many people get to be perfectly happy?”

“Don’t worry, bub,” said Boba, “I’ll see you right.”

“Why’d you call him bub?” Cobb asked. “Where I come from bub’s not friendly.”

“Bub like baby,” said Boba. “My dad used to call me bub when I was little. Hey, you want to see some sentimental shit?”

“I think I just heard some sentimental shit,” said Cobb. 

“What is it?” Din asked, lifting his head and putting his chin on Boba’s shoulder.

“I was afraid this was lost or ruined, but I managed to restore it,” Boba said. He was fiddling with something on one vambrace, the projector. It lit up and showed them a small coloured holo, bright and sharp in the dark, of a man holding a newborn baby in his arms, wrapped in a blue blanket. His handsome face showed just a small, closed smile but his eyes shone with happiness, pride and love. “That’s the day I came out of the vat,” said Boba. “My dad kept this picture on him wherever he went. Now I keep it on me. It’s the only one I’ve got of us together.”

“He loved you so much,” said Din quietly. 

“Is it weird or does it just count as a compliment to say your dad was smoking hot?” Cobb asked. 

Boba laughed a bit ruefully. “Well, that’s what you’re missing.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” said Din. “No one is missing anything important. It’s not your face that matters, it’s your character.”

“Fucked both ways then, aren’t I?” Boba said with a grin. 

“Well, we like you.”

“Yeah,” said Cobb, “I’m frankly shocked how you’ve let your guard down but here we all are for your sentimental shit.”

“So… just don’t say that,” Din said, attempting what he probably meant to be a soothing touch, resting his hand on top of Boba’s head. 

“Are you _petting_ my _head?”_ Boba asked. 

“Sorry,” he said, sounding embarrassed and drawing his hand back. 

“I didn’t say stop, I’m just making sure I understand what you’re up to.”

“Well… yes, I thought it might comfort you.”

“Okay, carry on.” So he did. 

“Look at your little baby squish face,” Cobb said, poking his finger through the holo trying to point. “You were _tiny_ and _cute.”_

“Do you ever feel like,” Boba said slowly and heavily, “you’re trying to be the father to yourself that you lost? To protect yourself or comfort yourself? But you’re just you, you’re still a lost kid inside when you’re tired. And sometimes all you wish is that someone else could do it for you? That someone else would ever _want_ to do it for you?”

“Damn,” said Din quietly. 

“Damn is right,” said Cobb. He felt Din’s arms move, wrapping around Boba’s chest in a hug. He stretched his own arms around both of them as well as he could, getting his hands over Boba’s shoulders. He wished the other two weren’t in armour. Or he didn’t because he understood it was precious to them, of course, he just wished it was easier to hold and comfort them, not to mention himself, because _ouch._ And he felt a little stupid for the baby squish face comment, even if it was a very cute baby squish face. 

“Well… we want to,” Din said.

“Yeah,” said Cobb, knowing he agreed as soon as he heard it and proud of Din for saying it first. “We want to.”

“For each other, I know. That’s nice.”

“We could fit you in too.”

There was a wary silence. “Let’s just be clear what we’re talking about here,” said Boba.

“We’d… have to figure that out,” said Din.

“You’re not asking me to move in.”

“No. We’ve got our place, you’ve got yours, but we can visit each other, right?” Din asked. 

“And when you need us to,” Cobb said, “you know, just when you need us to, we can baby you a little bit. Just like we do for each other.”

“Comfort each other,” Din said. “Put you to bed when you’re dead tired. Rub your back or scratch your head or whatever soothes you. Sometimes Cobb even sings to me.”

“Quietly and badly,” said Cobb, smiling.

“Not badly.”

“Well, that’s… very kind of you,” Boba said, “and I know I can’t ask you for anything more.”

“You can ask, that’s kind of the point,” said Cobb. “We’d like to do what makes you feel better.”

Boba cleared his throat. “No, ‘cause Din’s made it very clear how he feels, and you two make a nice pair, but you’re not a package deal, are you?” He gave a little laugh like he was trying to pass that off lightly.

Cobb could see the back of Din’s neck was getting red; it was noticeable even under the moonlight. “He means,” Cobb muttered, and Din cut him off, “I know what he means, I’ve _heard_ of threesomes.”

“Forget it, sorry, if you only want to do it with the one you’re in love with, fair enough and I won’t bother you.” Boba laughed again, although this time it was clearly _at_ himself and not in a pleasant way. “Not about to try to shove food at you when you’re not hungry.”

“That didn’t feel like you were trying to shove anything,” said Din. “It doesn’t offend me if you offer. Offering’s not like demanding.” He paused, fidgeting a little. “I mean, sometimes you might not be hungry, but if a friend _offers_ you a meal they’d like to share, maybe you could eat. You might enjoy the taste, even if you weren’t _hungry_. Hypothetically.”

“Could you get out from behind that hypothesis,” Cobb said, amused, “and tell me if you’re saying you want us to go to bed with this guy?”

“Oh. Uh. No. I don’t know,” Din said rapidly. “Kriff, how am I supposed to _know?”_

“Well, your dick gets hard or it doesn’t,” Boba muttered to himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cobb brought one hand back to rub the nape of Din’s neck. 

“I’m sorry, Boba, I just need to talk to Cobb alone for a minute,” Din said, abruptly getting up from between them. “Excuse us.” He hurried back to the door and went inside. 

“I will… go and talk to him,” said Cobb, feeling a touch out of his depth as he stood up. “Just… wait right there and hold that thought.”

“Where else am I going to go?” Boba asked with a look of baffled exasperation.

Back inside, Din was pacing around the small landing at the top of the stairs, looking sweaty and agitated. Cobb took hold of his shoulders and he stilled a bit. 

“I’m feeling all weird,” he said before Cobb could ask.

“Tell me about it.”

“You mean really tell you about it or you’re feeling weird too?”

“Oh, both!” That at least brought a brief flash of a smile to Din’s face. 

“I know I’m…” Din stopped, evidently trying to get his thoughts into line. “You ever try to separate out, I’m feeling _this_ because of this, and _that_ because of that? I’m trying now. How much is because I’m drunk, how much is because I’m close to you, how much is about Boba?”

“How much of what?”

“Me feeling horny now,” Din said, his voice dropping away into an embarrassed mumble at the end.

“Well, I mean we can’t do anything about drunk, but if you want to go back out to him by yourself and check —”

“I don’t — I mean, if anything happens, I want it to happen with you too. I know that much. I would be way too nervous without you.”

“Is it like, if I’m there you can sort of extend how you feel about me to him?” Cobb asked, trying to puzzle it out.

“I don’t think so. I don’t feel in love with him but I’m feeling _close_ to him. Maybe that works for me too? It’s not as intense as wanting you but it’s _there._ I mean, how is it for you?”

“Well, I started out with not being sure I even trusted him, then over the course of the evening I’ve rocketed through liking him, getting annoyed with him, getting sorry for him, being a tiny bit scared of him but in a horny way, and right now it’s this weird mix of liking, sorry and horny.”

“Do _you_ want to do this or do you just want to help me do it if that’s what I want?”

“Oh, I definitely want to do it.”

“Good. And, I mean… how much do you like Boba?” Din’s eyes were turned up to his, appealing and just a little worried.

“Oh, darlin’, I like him a lot, but I _love_ you more than anyone in the world. Don’t ever doubt that.” He stroked Din’s hair and kissed him softly, and got pulled into a deeper, more urgent kiss with Din pressing up hard against him. 

“Can I ask you for one thing?”

“Of course you can.”

“Don’t call _him_ baby or darling, okay?”

“I wasn’t going to. Those mean you. Just you.” He kissed him again to press the point home.

“Uh, listen, if I call you honey, that means I’m going to ask to stop, and can you just — can you please back me up?”

“Of course. Count on me. I hope you don’t need to, but it’s a good plan.”

“Okay. I think this could be good. Give me a hug so I’m not so nervous.”

“Just squeeze it out of you?” Cobb asked with a chuckle, pulling him in.

“Exactly.”

“I love you so much,” Cobb murmured, hugging Din tight. “And I’m not just saying that ‘cause I’m drunk and horny.”

“I love you just the same,” Din said, squeezing his waist.

“Want to go back and tell him we’re in?”

“Let’s get him to come back in here, it’s cold out there.”

Boba was sitting with his legs dangling again. He looked up as they stepped out and said, “Thought you might’ve pissed off and left me to my own devices.”

“That’d just be rude,” said Din. “Um. Do you want to show us your room?”

“And please get off the edge of that thing,” said Cobb, hanging onto the frame of the door. “You may be fearless but you’re spooking me.”

“Come on.” Din gave Cobb his helmet to hold and went forward, holding out his hand. Boba reached up and took it and got to his feet, but managed to step on the hem of his robe and stumbled back. For a fraction of a second he was falling outward and his wide eyes flashed white with panic before Din yanked them both bodily back from the edge, falling on his back with Boba tumbling on top of him with a thump that audibly knocked the wind out of both of them. 

“Kriffing hell,” Boba said faintly. Din punched him in the arm. 

“You two get your ass in here right now, I just about shit my pants!” Cobb shouted. 

“I didn’t mean to do that,” said Boba, in the very precise diction of a drunk momentarily startled sober. 

“I fall off tall things all the time but there’s such a thing as unnecessary risk, you _moron_ ,” said Din, sharply. 

“Sorry,” said Boba, quite meekly. 

“Good. Come on.” Din pushed him off onto his hands and knees and gave him a smack to get him moving.

“Did you just _slap my ass?”_ Boba asked incredulously.

“First time for everything, move.”

They got inside safely and Din leaned against the wall, hands on knees, panting. “I’m too old for this.”

“I still think you’re probably younger than me,” said Boba. 

“No more near-death experiences, all right?” said Cobb. “You’re really hurting your chances of getting laid here.”

For a brief moment Boba looked like he was going to say something along the lines of “don’t do me any favours,” but he pulled himself together. “Well, that’d be a waste of how seductive and charming I’ve been this evening.” There was an interesting thing Boba could do, Cobb thought, where he sounded like he was being ironically self-deprecating, and yet he put just a little pepper on it that still made it seem cocky. Maybe it was just that sharp glint in his eye. It would be a shame if he didn’t realise that was what made him sexy.

“So lead the way,” Cobb said.

He was pretty sure Boba briefly got lost once on the way to his room, but he played that off as returning to the dining room to retrieve his helmet from the table, then led them to a pair of double doors and showed them in. It was the plainest room they’d yet seen, bare walls, no ornaments, a high, square bed covered with a plain, dark blanket. There was a big half-moon window, floor to nearly ceiling, and that seemed to be the one lavish thing. There was a couch set facing it, and Boba waved them over to sit down.

“I know _you_ haven’t done anything like this before,” he said to Din, standing with his back to the window, maybe so he would have a beautiful moonlit backdrop. “How about you?” he asked Cobb.

“Uh, no, I guess I’ve just always been pretty basic in my tastes, you know, one thing at a time and that done well… just never had the right opportunity at the right time,” he said sheepishly.

“You don’t need to explain,” Boba said gruffly but not unkindly. “We just need to talk about it a bit first, so we’re not flying blind. The more moving parts, the more you can get mixed up, right? I mean… what are you two normally into?”

“We kiss a lot,” Din said, looking wide-eyed and flustered. His voice slid slightly too high and he cleared his throat. 

“Most of the time I top from the bottom,” Cobb said, trying to help him out. “Din’s less experienced, he likes being led a little, but he knows what he’s doing. Like I said, it’s all pretty basic, the kinkiest thing we get up to is sometimes he blindfolds me for old times’ sake. That’s how we did it the first couple of times, before he decided to show me his face.” 

Boba nodded. “I might be rougher than you like,” he said. “I top all the way and I tend to leave bruises. But I can control myself. Ideally I’d want to fuck both of you, but maybe for now it’d work better if Din and I took turns on you.” 

The tone they were striking felt funny, Cobb thought; they were all being so earnest about it, hardly flirty or seductive at all, and it made him want to laugh but at the same time he was way too nervous for that. He found he really badly wanted this to work out, wanted Din to be comfortable with it, wanted Boba to feel confident that both of them could enjoy being with him, and oh goodness, the thought of these two taking turns on him was making his heart beat fast and his cock stiffen so he had to shift position and tug awkwardly at his pants to let it straighten out.

“That all right with you?” Boba asked with a little smirk.

“Uh-huh,” he said, eloquently.

Boba glanced from one to the other of them, still smiling a little to himself, then walked over to an armour stand in the corner and placed his helmet on it before looking back at them. “Give me a hand?”

He stood and waited for them to come to him and help him, like a couple of attendants on a king. Cobb would have been annoyed to be treated like a servant except that it was so obviously an invitation to touch him and get more familiar with his body, and, he suspected, to make Boba feel in charge again after his admissions of loneliness. He ran his hands down Boba’s flanks, around to his belly and back up to his chest, finding the fastenings on the cuirass and popping them the way he’d done so many times when he got home at night. All alone then, no one to go to bed with. The straps that he’d needed to cinch tight on his slim frame were loosened to fit Boba’s broader, deeper chest — and his shoulders actually came out to the attached pauldrons, which on him had stuck out like wings. He thought Boba might have an exaggerated idea of his gut, especially if he’d needed to let the straps out a lot to put the armour on when he got it back, maybe forgetting that they were fitted to Cobb and not to him. Yes, his waist was thick, yes, his belly was round, not flat, but it wasn’t out of proportion, and you could feel the bulk of muscle underneath. It was going to be nice to have this up against his body. 

Between them he and Din stripped Boba down, hanging the pieces neatly on the armour stand. “This is kind of nostalgic, taking this suit off, it’s just off of someone else instead of me,” he said. 

“Had to replace the parts you lost or broke,” Boba grunted. 

“I didn’t break anything. Din plays rough. Didn’t lose anything either, the missing parts were missing when I bought it.” Lifting up the skirts of the desert robe Boba wore showed that he was pretty serious about protecting his groin; he wore a substantial codpiece on the outside, whereas Din’s armour had a cup that he wore inside his flight suit because, he said, some people seemed to take visible groin protection as a target to kick, which could still knock the wind out of him. Cobb held the skirts while Din knelt and undid the buckles of the pieces protecting Boba’s lower body. You’d need to be dead inside, in Cobb’s opinion, not to have a pretty strong reaction to Din kneeling in front of you, glancing up at you, his hands brushing your thighs and your hips as he worked. He could hear Boba’s breathing picking up a bit, and he reached out to stroke Din’s hair back from his forehead, combing his fingers into it and holding his head for a moment. Din’s eyes fluttered shut and he rocked forward a little, blinking up at Boba when he lifted his hand away.

In just a few minutes they had him down to his inner clothing, stripping the soft, dark robe off too. Din was reaching for the front of his shirt when Boba put his hands over his and stopped him. “That’s good,” he said, “but I’ll take the next part. I’m going to take a shower. You two just make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back in two shakes of a bantha’s tail.” He went off through a side door, and shortly after they heard water running from behind it. _Lavish of him,_ Cobb thought, but he was prepared to allow that Boba was being a gentleman by making sure he was clean and as fresh as possible for them. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked Din with a smile. Din was flushed again, and he was unfastening his cape, starting to undress too. 

“Pretty good. I’m excited about doing all of this with you. I still don’t know how much of it exactly is just for Boba, but I don’t care, I’m enjoying it.”

Untying his scarf, Cobb said, “He strikes me as the type who’s gonna ask to be called Daddy at some point; you want to put money on it?”

Din had sat down on the floor to take off his boots without falling over, a wise move. He gave a little snort of laughter. “Seriously?”

“Serious as a heart attack. A shiny credit says he’s gonna break out the D-word.” He pulled off his shirt and threw it at Din, but missed by quite a long way.

“Okay then, you’re on.”

“Let me help you out of the rest of your suit.”

“You’ve got good at this,” Din said.

“I would hope so. It’s kind of fun.” He could do it fast now, too, or could if he wasn’t stumbling and fumbling a little. 

“You were enjoying doing it for him too, weren’t you? It was interesting seeing you look at him the way you look at me.”

Cobb paused with his hands under Din’s cuirass. “You feeling good about that?” _Please say yes._ He got a wet, enthusiastic kiss for an answer. 

“I like the idea of taking turns with you.” 

“If we do that I want you to go first, okay?”

“We get to share you. You know how you say I’m your nicest nice thing now you can have nice things?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m thinking of it as sharing my nicest nice thing, just like you share everything with me.”

“You are a sweetheart.” It made him wonder if there could be a sweetheart hiding inside Boba’s rough shell too. Maybe not, but Din was proof that people could surprise you. Boba seemed more like the type who didn’t say anything sweet but fucked you till you saw stars. “You know what? I think I should shower too,” Cobb said, dropping his pants. “First impressions and stuff.”

“No using a shower as an excuse to go tell him privately that he should ask to be called Daddy so you win a bet.”

“Sir! As if I would! Anyhow, you can come too.” He went over to the bathroom door in his underwear and tapped. Even if he confidently expected to see Boba naked in the near future, he figured you shouldn’t just barge in on a man in his bathroom. “Hey in there,” he called out, raising his voice a little over the hiss of water. “Can we join you?”

There was a pause, then Boba’s voice came back. “Come in, but I’ve only got room for one in here with me.”

Going in, it became clear what he meant; Boba had chosen one of the less lavishly appointed rooms, although that still meant it was far beyond anything normal. There was no huge wallowing bath in the floor, but a more normal human-sized tub, and a shower recess beside it. Boba was in there, his face upturned to the spray, and he shut the water off and turned to face them. 

That was Boba trying to act confident again, Cobb supposed, and damn did it work. He stood there naked and glistening wet and if there was any sign that he thought the scars that rippled over his skin, cutting through the patterns of his tattoos, were disfiguring Cobb couldn’t see it. Beside him he heard Din give a very faint, distinctly impressed “Oh,” and that made the smile that had naturally begun on his face grow wider.

“Couldn’t wait to get started?” Boba asked.

“Really just wanted to take a shower,” Cobb said. “You know,” he added to Din, “when I said if you were both going to fuck me I’d want you to go first, I was just thinking that’d make you feel special, the way you deserve. But now I see what we’re dealing with, I’m definitely gonna need you to loosen me up before _that_ goes in.” Boba’s cock was just hardening up under their gaze, but it was already thick enough to be a little intimidating.

That made Boba grin, almost modestly. “Get in here, then,” he said, stepping back to make room. “You okay watching for now, bub?” he asked Din. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Din. 

“Yeah, I can see you’re enjoying yourself,” said Boba. Din’s growing erection was stretching his snug-fitting black shorts. Cobb gave him a kiss, whispered, “Wish me luck, huh?” and dropped his own underwear. He stepped into the recess, flicking his gaze up and down Boba’s body and feeling him do the same. “Skinny, aren’t you?” Boba asked with a little smile. “What am I going to hold onto?” He turned on the water and Cobb gave a little gasp of shock as it hit his back. When was the last time he’d felt something like that? The cold rain by the singing frog ponds, but this was warm and it had been so long it felt new. Probably enough water had streamed down his body and away through the drain at his feet to wash himself all over at the sink in the past few seconds. 

He tried very hard to think of this as a luxury, a treat, not a waste that was going to cost him, and it helped greatly to distract him that Boba pushed him back against the wall and kissed him fiercely, although he had to grab the back of his neck and pull his head down to do it. Then he clearly found what he was going to hold onto, namely Cobb’s cock. 

“You want to get clean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s good, because I was hoping to eat your ass later on. Hold still and we’ll get you up to my standards.” He spun Cobb around and pushed him against the wall again, pushed his feet apart with one of his, grabbed his hip and made him stick his backside out. It was probably supposed to make him feel thrilled and thrown off balance, and it kind of did but it made him laugh too. He braced his forearms against the wall and tried not to slip and caught his breath as Boba started vigorously tugging his cock with a soapy hand. He wasn’t gentle and it was a little scary, but so far it was on the right side of rough and it felt _good._ He glanced sideways and saw Din sitting on the side of the bath, staring at them and rubbing himself through his shorts. Din _wasn’t_ that young but there were times when he looked like it, with his hair mussed and his eyes wide and his lips parted a little. 

“Enjoying seeing your man like this?” Boba asked. Din just nodded, and Cobb gasped sharply because Boba had shifted to lathering his balls. If he was going to be this rough he’d have to say something before he actually hurt him, but he was still on the right side of the line and it felt so good that he didn’t want to say anything that might make him stop. That was just for a minute, though, and then to his relief Boba was scrubbing his ass and sliding his soapy fingers up and down between his buttocks. “You don’t talk much, do you?” Boba asked Cobb. “Just heavy breathing.”

“He normally talks a lot,” said Din. “To encourage me, to let me know what I’m doing feels good.”

“Don’t I rate the same?” Boba asked.

“Oh, you want the same?” Cobb asked breathlessly. “But you’re not the same. If you need to know, _yes,_ that feels good. But if you try and put your fingers up my ass with soap for lube it’s all off.”

Boba chuckled. “Don’t worry. Nothing like that. Need to rinse you off really well, though, because I don’t want to _taste_ soap. That, and I like to look where I’m going.” Cobb felt him kneading his buttocks with both hands and spreading them apart, letting the warm water that ran down his back stream between them and down to drip from his balls. “Hold still and see how you like this,” Boba said, and a moment later Cobb felt a puff of breath and then a warm tongue touching his anus, flicking delicately. He was surprised about that, he’d been expecting Boba to be a lot more aggressive — oh, there it was, he’d sealed his lips to it and was sucking hard, letting go with a smack, then prodding firmly with his tongue stiff. He leaned his head on his arms and groaned. 

“Maybe I can interpret,” said Din. “That’s a ‘that feels so good I can’t make words’ noise in Cobbese.”

“You do this for him?” Boba asked before returning to flicking his tongue around the twitching opening.

“Not yet. I’m watching you to learn. See? You’re mentoring me.” 

“Your tongue shakes when you’re trying not to laugh,” Cobb said. “Can we take this to bed? My feet are slipping and I’m gonna have trouble holding myself up if you keep going like that.”

“We’ll just call that a preview then,” said Boba. He gave it one last sucking, smacking kiss and slapped Cobb on the butt. “You get out and you,” he motioned to Din, “get in.”

“I thought we were both fucking Cobb, so do I need to?” Din asked, although he was pulling his shorts down. 

“Even if I don’t fuck you, I want a good look. Come on, that’s right. Lean on your arms like he did and spread for me.”

“Fantastic ass, right?” Cobb asked. He was a little bit disappointed to be dismissed so soon, but watching while he towelled off was good compensation. This was clearly a bit difficult for Din; he was making uncomfortable faces while Boba washed him roughly, but a breathy “Oh!” broke out of him and his face lit up with pleasure when he felt the first touch of Boba’s tongue. Boba spent longer eating him than he had with Cobb, and any thought Cobb had had that Din might not be ready for rimming was gone; he was tilting his hips to give better access and moaning constantly. His cock jutted out stiff and red under his belly, streams of warm water dripping off it, and made Cobb’s mouth water too. He was just going to suggest that they see how long it took Din to come with Cobb working him in front and Boba in back when Boba straightened up, gave Din’s ass a slap, and said, “You’ll do nicely.” He shut off the water while Din awkwardly pushed himself back from the wall, looking like he’d temporarily forgotten how to stand up normally. He got it together, though, with a bashful smile and stepped out of the shower into the towel that Cobb was holding ready to wrap round him. They kissed, Din’s arms around his shoulders and Cobb gave his backside a good rough rub with the towel, wondering if Boba was going to get his ideal wish of fucking them both after all. He wasn’t sure Din could take something like that comfortably yet, but maybe with a lot of patience and lube it would work. 

“You dry off,” he said, giving Din a little push, picked up a towel and went to do the same for Boba, who was waiting in the shower recess for Din to get out of the way.

“Oh, towel service for me too?” he asked, lifting his arms to let Cobb wrap it round him. 

“I’m taking care of you. That’s my thing. That and riding dick.”

“I wondered what your thing would be. You’re not going to ride, though, I want you on all fours.”

“I can do that,” Cobb said, and kissed him while he towelled his back. 

“I don’t normally kiss this much, not on the mouth, anyway.”

“That’s a pity, you’re good at it.” He pulled him closer so their cocks could brush together and kissed him again, more deeply. 

“You know this mouth was just on your man’s asshole.”

“His squeaky clean asshole, and I don’t care.” He felt a little bump against his back and then a lot of warmth as Din stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, sliding his hands up and down over his belly.

“It’s still tingling,” he said. “How about yours?”

“I think it could tingle more,” Cobb said, smiling and turning to kiss him, reaching at the same time to hold Boba’s cock and give it a gentle squeeze. He found Din’s with his other hand and stroked them both up and down, rolling his thumbs lightly over the heads, and had the pleasure of hearing both men’s breathing catch and change as they pressed in closer to him. He felt Boba reach up and grip his hair to turn his head back for another kiss. _He’s really got a thing for our hair, doesn’t he?_ Going back and forth, he was enjoying the contrast between how aggressively Boba kissed him and Din’s gentler but very eager approach, and the way he would drop his head to kiss Cobb’s neck whenever he was turned away to kiss Boba. Their cocks were warm and leaking in his hands and they were both making low, deep little pleasure-sounds as he stroked them. He kept making comparisons while liking both; Boba’s precum was thicker, feeling almost syrupy, Din’s thinner and more copious, both of them starting to push and grind into his hands.

“Everyone want to keep going till you come?” he asked a little breathlessly. 

“No, I’m saving it,” said Boba. “Feels better if I hold back for a bit first.”

“I will too,” said Din. His eyes were bright and his lips were all reddened from kissing, and he pressed in for another, rolling his tongue against Cobb’s, working his jaw slowly against his. “Do we go to bed now?”

“Yeah, I just keep hold of both your dicks and pull you along,” Cobb said with a chuckle. 

“No you don’t,” said Boba, pulling him back to kiss him greedily and suck his tongue. “Come on, the pair of you.” He moved off by himself, walking with a sure stride, expecting them to follow him without hesitation, and they did, hand in hand, exchanging a look of uncertain anticipation. 

  
  


“Both of you up on the bed,” said Boba, folding his arms. “That’s good. First round, you’re helping me,” he pointed to Din, “and we’re taking him apart,” pointing to Cobb. 

“We may have some problems with power struggles,” said Cobb, “because we’ve got three take-charge personalities here.” He was leaning back on his elbows, looking relaxed, although the way he kept moving his mouth told the real story; Din had noticed that Cobb gave away a lot about his feelings with his mouth, not just simple gestures like smiles or frowns, and right now he kept restlessly licking his teeth. He’d been doing it all evening; together with the increased lip-biting, not just briefly nipping his lower lip but scraping his teeth over it, it had been betraying the undercurrent in his feelings. He wasn’t sure Cobb was even aware he did it, but he’d concluded it basically meant “kiss me, now, a lot.”

“I don’t have a problem,” said Boba calmly, “because I’m in charge. Right now all you two need to do is listen to me. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Cobb said, grinning.

“Got it,” said Din. “What do you want me to do?”

“Good man. First just show me how you’d get him ready to fuck. I’ll get you some lube.”

They lay down in the middle of the bed, Din astride Cobb’s body, kissing him as they ran hands up and down each other’s chests, bellies, backs, until he sank down on top of him to feel the full press of their bodies together, their cocks sandwiched between their bellies. He shifted to kiss Cobb’s neck and Cobb whispered beside his ear, “Bet we hear Daddy soon.”

“Shh,” said Din, suppressing a smile and rolling his hips against Cobb’s. They both felt the mattress dip a bit as Boba sat down beside them and rested on one elbow. 

“This looks good,” he said, stroking Din’s back with his free hand. His palm was very warm and made Din twitch a little, particularly when he brought it up to hold the nape of his neck. That was a sensitive place for both him and Cobb, where they liked being kissed, stroked or lightly held, but it felt really different to have Boba grasping it. His hand was _heavy,_ that was all he could think. “Good boy,” Boba said quietly, and he felt a throb down low in his groin that startled him. 

“What should I do?” he asked, not sure which of them he was asking. 

“Don’t overthink it,” Cobb said, gazing up at him. “Just be sweet to me like always.”

It took him a moment to refocus with the distraction of Boba’s hand kneading his neck and shoulders, but he sank back into kissing Cobb’s mouth, neck, chest, belly, feeling his breathing grow ragged and heavy as he shuffled back and down the bed. He left pink and red suck marks blooming on Cobb’s skin, lingering over the firm flat muscle of his lower belly and the way it twitched and undulated when he worked at the sensitive spots under his navel and near his hipbones. As he moved over the area he could feel Cobb’s cock brushing and rubbing against his neck and chest, hot and stiff, its sharp smell growing stronger until he was ready to hold it at its base, look up to make sure he had Cobb’s full attention, and hold his rapt, joyful gaze as he licked the tip. Cobb caught his breath and moaned in delight, his hips rocking reflexively as Din’s lips slipped over the sleek head and sealed just under its rim while he swirled and rolled his tongue. 

_“Oh,_ that’s it, just like that, get me all wet and suck me down,” he said, stroking and rumpling Din’s hair. “Suck me in deep, baby, you know what feels so good to me, you know how — _oh_ damn yes.” His voice stopped with a surprised little murmur as Boba leaned in to kiss his mouth. He clearly enjoyed that too, his moans growing deeper as they were muffled by Boba’s lips and tongue, and he gave a sharp little grunt and arched his back when Boba firmly pinched his nipples, already stiff and pink from Din’s attention to them. Happy to hear him happy, Din breathed deeply through his nose and bobbed his head, just enough to take it a bit deeper each time, sucking hard. 

Cobb yelped and pulled his head back from Boba. “Stop!”

“Okay,” said Boba, lifting his hands, at the same time Din asked, alarmed, “What’s wrong?”

“Not you, baby, you’re doing great,” Cobb said quickly, before looking to Boba. “That was too hard,” he said, frowning. “Pinch ‘em, don’t crush ‘em.”

“Sorry,” said Boba calmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, but remember from now on, I like a _little_ bit of pain, like a slap on my ass, a little sting’s invigorating, but I don’t want anything that really hurts bad.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“And the same goes for Din, you can play rough with him but don’t hurt him.” Din felt Cobb’s hand cup protectively behind his head. “Think you can still have fun with us?”

“Of course. Everything’s fine.” Boba looked down at Din and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, bub. You’ve got that ‘My dads are fighting’ face.” He laughed. “And now you’re blushing.”

“Quit teasing him,” Cobb said. “Aren’t I supposed to get taken apart here?”

“Good point. Hey Din, do you usually suck him right off before you fuck him, or just enough to make him enjoy it more?”

“The second one mostly, I mean, we can’t always time it perfectly, sometimes he comes in my mouth but we keep going.” He’d been ready to stop everything if Cobb wasn’t happy, but he still seemed perfectly comfortable with Boba; he’d told him to stop teasing in an amused, relaxed tone, so Din still felt good about keeping going. The teasing itself had made him feel weird and embarrassed, he didn’t think he was _supposed_ to enjoy being spoken to like that, but it certainly didn’t put him off. 

“And I’m good either way,” Cobb said, still stroking Din’s hair and looking down at him fondly. “On a lucky day sometimes I kind of come again from the inside even if I’m not hard again yet. Still, this is a good break spot to switch over to getting my ass ready.”

“Do you want me to use my mouth this time?” Din asked. “You were really enjoying it from Boba, right?”

“Would you be comfortable doing that for me, darlin’?”

“I’m pretty sure I am.”

“Yes, please.”

“You’re so polite to each other,” said Boba, grinning, “or is that because you’ve got company?”

“Bit of both,” Cobb said. “Gimme room to move here. That’s better.” He spread and lifted his legs, getting comfortable with his hands behind his knees. “Might ask you to help hold my legs later,” he said to Boba, “if I want my hands free.”

“Okay, but for right now I think I’ll join Din. Give him a bit of coaching on the noble art of eating ass.” He scooted down beside Din, who was kneeling up and stroking the backs of Cobb’s thighs, to help ease the tightness in those muscles and make the position more comfortable. “Looking forward to it?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Din said, with a slightly nervous smile. He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous about doing something new with an audience or if Boba was just making him nervous generally. He had such a strong, dominant presence, it almost set off a fight or flight kind of feeling in Din, like he should be _reacting_ somehow. But there was a third, worse option in situations of real danger, freeze, and here there was the fourth, much better option, fuck. 

“It’s a cute little ass, isn’t it?” Boba asked, joining him in gazing down at it, his chest pressing against Din’s side. 

“I love it,” Din said honestly. “It’s given me more pleasure than I even thought you could feel. If I believed in the Great Maker I’d thank it daily for Cobb’s ass.”

That made both Boba and Cobb chuckle. “Thank you, darlin’, you say the nicest things,” said Cobb. 

“Okay then, let’s make it feel just that good,” said Boba, patting him on the back. “Lean in and watch what I do, then I’ll give you a turn.”

“Uh-huh.” He watched avidly as Boba drew his tongue up between Cobb’s cheeks in a long, slow lick that made Cobb shiver. He pointed the tip of his tongue and flicked it up and down against the soft, puckered skin around his anus, making it flush a deeper pink. 

“Now you,” said Boba, and shifted over, keeping a hand on Din’s shoulder as he bowed his head and tried to flick his tongue the same way. Cobb tasted salty, a bit sweaty, fortunately not soapy, and his anus twitched sharply in response to the licking. 

“That’s good,” Boba said. “You hear how he’s moaning?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Use the flat of your tongue and polish it round and round a bit, see how he likes that.” Judging by the hissing intake of breath and the shaky exhalation, he liked it an awful lot. 

“Kiss his asshole,” Boba said, which made Din’s face burn while he did it. “That’s right, kiss it like you love it, because you do, right? Suck it. He’s going to feel it pulling. Let go. Good! Keep licking. You’re getting the hang of it, he’s melting up there.” He ruffled the back of Din’s hair. “Now I want another turn.”

Din almost whined with reluctance to stop, but he pulled back and wiped his mouth on a shaking hand while Boba delved back in, his lips and tongue smacking hungrily against Cobb’s skin. 

“Fff… you don’t just eat ass, you gobble it,” Cobb panted. He caught Din’s eye and mouthed a silent, exaggerated, shocked/impressed _fuck!_ that threatened to make him laugh. 

“Is it good, though?” Din asked. 

“Oh hell yes. I haven’t had it this good before, I thought I didn’t like it so much.” 

“Get back down here,” Boba said, “your turn. Okay,” he said, hand back on Din’s shoulder as he bent to it. “Lick some more, then point your tongue and see if you can stick it in. Does it give up pretty easy for your fingers?”

“Mmhmm,” Din said again, pushing and feeling Cobb yielding sweetly. 

“Just like your fingers, push it in, open up his ass. Flick it up and down. Good! Did you hear that moan? He’s opening up for you, he wants you. Give him some more. Good, kiss it, suck it, give it your tongue, push it in as deep as you can. You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” He rubbed Din’s back and brought his hand to his nape again. “Now me, I like to make a man _beg_ to get fucked. He should know my dick is the one thing he needs in the world. You like that? Makes you feel powerful?”

“Din… Din never makes me beg,” Cobb panted. “He gives it to me nice and slow, though.”

“Hear that? Slow. Take your time and really enjoy giving your first rimjob. Think about how it felt in the shower. That tingle and throb, that’s what you’re doing to him.” His hand slid down Din’s back to squeeze one buttock. “I could play with your ass a bit while you do that. Want me to?”

Din lifted his head long enough to say, “Yes, _please_ , but I need lots of lube.”

“We use bacta for Din,” Cobb said, “because he’s got such a tender little asshole, and he likes the thick squishy feel.” He grunted and gasped as Din burrowed his tongue back in, sucking the ring around it furiously. 

“I’ll use plain lube for now. We’ll see if you need bacta later.” Din heard the top of a bottle or a tube popping, and then Boba rubbing his hands slickly together, and then felt warm, thick fingers between his buttocks, moving briskly. He groaned and the sound bubbled through his lips and tongue and into Cobb’s ass, pushing a sharp “Yes!” from his mouth. Something thinner and harder than a finger penetrated him, the lube must have some sort of nozzle, and he felt a squirt of something startlingly cool before it was pulled back and replaced by a finger, pushing in deep with confidence. It hurt him a bit, he didn’t think Boba had quite understood Cobb about how sensitive his butt was, but it also gave him a thick hot jab of pleasure right up into his belly. He kept on licking, probing with his tongue, his face getting all wet with spit, feeling triumphant at the way Cobb’s anus was dilating under all this stimulation. 

“Does it feel different from a guy with a moustache?” he heard Boba ask Cobb quite casually while he lightly pumped his finger in Din’s ass. 

“Ffff — yes,” Cobb said. “Tickles.”

“Good tickle, bad tickle?”

“Very fuckin’ good tickle.”

“I see what you mean about his bum, he’s tight as a bolt.”

“H-he can get there, it just — just takes longer,” Cobb panted. “Are you okay down there, baby?” He tenderly stroked Din’s hair, and Din realised he was so overstimulated he was in danger of coming before he got his cock anywhere near Cobb. He’d started humping the bed instinctively when Boba’s finger went in, and he lifted himself up on his knees with an effort to stop that. 

He tried to give a clear “Mmhmm,” but it was more like “Mmmmnngghhh.”

“Babe, I really want your fingers now, I love your tongue so much but I need it deeper.”

“You hear how desperate he sounds?” Boba asked Din, slapping his shoulder. “Job well done. Proud of you. Give the man what he wants.”

Din shifted his weight, sat back on his heels and shuffled in close to Cobb’s bottom. Boba leaned in and said, “Hand,” then drizzled lube over his fingers. 

“Oh — thanks.” He hadn’t realised a third person was going to be so helpful. He rubbed his fingertips over the flushed, spit-slick opening and found it unusually soft and relaxed, easy to sink two fingers into directly while Cobb moaned and rocked his head back, his mouth dropping open. He flexed his fingers and drew sharper sounds out of him, watching his face, sinking them in deeper. 

“He’s just eating you up, isn’t he?” Boba asked, pressed against his back to watch over his shoulder. 

“This is pretty normal,” Din said, feeling proud of Cobb; he had no basis for comparison but Boba presumably did and seemed impressed. 

“Want me to keep going on your ass when you’re inside him?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Just tell me when you do.”

“Just…” said Cobb, and trailed off, working his hips against Din’s fingers. 

“What is it? Want something?” Din asked, bending over him. 

“Oh, what do you think?” Cobb asked, looking up at him, eyes that just had hazel rims around wide-blown pupils, and he swayed down on impulse to kiss him before pulling up. 

“Is it still okay to kiss you?”

Cobb made an impatient growl and let go one of his legs to pull Din’s head down and kiss him hungrily, biting his lower lip before he let him go. “Fuck me,” he breathed, “fuck me open, fill me up.”

Din caught his breath, startled, when he felt Boba’s hand on his cock, before realising he was just helping again, getting him slick and smooth, but also rolling his thumb over the head and teasing at the slit while he kissed the back of his neck, so he had to shrug his back a bit and ease his hand off it with his own. 

“No, come on, let me help you put it in,” Boba mumbled against his neck. 

“I don’t need help with that, I do it damn near every day.”

“Lucky fuckin’ you.” Boba was holding Cobb’s leg too, letting him keep one hand free to rub his cock. 

“Here it comes, here it comes, I love you…” Din leaned forward on one arm, guiding his cock with his free hand, pushing in and then sliding in delicious soft slick warmth that squeezed him in a thick tight band. As his head cleared from the first blissful immersion he could also feel Boba’s stiff prick rubbing against his back, but that was fine, he was welcome to, he felt so good now he was only too happy to share, Boba could fuck him if he wanted to, he only wanted to stay where he was and love Cobb and feel his arms around him and his thighs tight on his hips and his ass pulsing and squeezing around his cock as he slid back and forth in its deep, snug heat. Cobb kissed his neck and ground against him and whimpered joyfully. 

“You feel so good…”

“I really need a _hard_ fuck after all that tickling and tingling.”

“Got it.” He braced his feet and his knees on the bed and began to thrust faster, grunting softly with the effort, trying still to hold back a little and save something for the finish. He was stuck between wanting to feel Boba’s finger in his ass again and thinking he would come far too fast that way, that maybe Boba _wanted_ him to come too fast so he could get his turn with Cobb sooner, and he absolutely understood wanting to fuck Cobb Vanth but it was still _his_ turn and he wanted to enjoy all of it. Cobb was urging him on with murmurs and gasps and grunts of his own, telling him that was good, _so_ good, he could feel him so big and hard and right where he needed him, he felt so _full,_ to go harder, he could take it, he needed it, and then there was one of those shifts in intensity that sometimes happened for no clear reason, just a surge that ran through them both and drove them on in a fever, Din’s hips smacking and clapping against Cobb’s inner thighs, Cobb clutching his ass with both hands, sweat running in streams between them, hoarse cries bursting out of them, until Cobb tensed all over as he came, and the extra tight squeeze and the beautiful sound he made finished Din off in seconds. He pushed in as deep as he could at the last and held there, cock spurting in pulses that seemed to wring everything out of him, completely lost in burning hot pleasure. There was a little while when his head was just full of stars, and then a gradual clearing as the orgasm ebbed away and left him limp and panting, sprawled on top on Cobb, who was moaning weakly, a sound that made him realise he was doing it too. His cock felt twitchy and so sensitive he didn’t want to move it again until it calmed down, and he could feel Cobb’s legs trembling, wrapped around him. 

He stirred himself after a minute to kiss Cobb on the cheek, feeling the rough brush of his beard, and then his lips turning to answer the kiss, their heads leaning together forehead to forehead, breathing deeply, spent and perfectly contented. 

“I love you so much,” he sighed. 

“I love you right back. I swear to you, no one’s ever fucked me as good as you do.”

Din thought vaguely that that might have been a silly thing to say when Boba was there, that he might feel like he had to compete, but he still loved hearing it. “Well, you taught me,” he said. 

“Yeah, but you can’t teach talent,” Cobb said with a soft puff of a chuckle. “You brought that.”

“Do you want to rest a while with me, or go on with Boba now?” 

He saw Cobb’s eyes widen a bit, and then he whispered right by Din’s ear, shielding it with his hand, “For a minute I forgot he was here!” Cobb took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hmmm… I think I’m okay to go straight on. Not sure what it’ll feel like after coming that hard, but I want to try. And there’s gotta be a reward for being patient.” He glanced over to Boba, who was sitting beside them stroking his cock, and gave him a quick wink.

“Okay.” Din kissed his lips softly. “I hope you really, really enjoy it.”

“You’re my sweetheart. I hope you enjoy watching.”

He pushed himself up and eased out, feeling his own warm cum spill around him as he did. It seemed like an especially heavy load this time, and he felt a bit proud of that too; nice to be able to show something impressive to Boba. He sat back on his heels, pushed his sweat-damp hair back off his forehead with the back of his arm, turned to him and asked, “Do you still want to do it?”

“What sort of question is that?” Boba asked. “Do I still want — stop being weird and help me with him.”

“I don’t know, it seemed like a good time to check,” said Din. He was too bone-deep happy to care if he was being weird. 

“Come on now, marshal,” Boba said, pushing and sliding his arm under Cobb’s back, “roll over, remember I want you on all fours.”

“Don’t call me _marshal,”_ Cobb said with very mild protest. “Doesn’t feel friendly. I’m Cobb or you can give me a pet name, I’m good either way.” He rolled onto his belly and said with a little chuckle, “Okay, give me a minute, my legs are still like jelly.”

“Not surprising,” said Boba, rubbing the dip of Cobb’s back. “I wasn’t expecting him to fuck like that — seemed like more of the slow gentlemanly love-making type.”

“Well, he can do that quite nicely too, can’t you, baby?” Cobb said, reaching over to pat Din on the knee. “But on a first round especially he’s kind of an animal.” He sounded proud of Din. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Din said. He really needed to pee now; hadn’t been able to feel or notice it when he was all high on arousal but now it was demanding his attention. The drunk feeling was definitely wearing off by now, but he was still a bit wobbly on his legs when he got off the bed. 

“We won’t start without you,” Cobb called after him, and as he went into the bathroom he heard Boba say, “Won’t we?” and Cobb reply, “Patience, pal.”

He gave his sticky cock a preliminary wipe-off with toilet paper, had a long, _long_ piss, and then went back into the shower just long enough to take the showerhead down from the wall and have a brief but thorough spot wash. He wanted to get back to the others quickly and see what Boba would do, but Cobb had strong views on post-sex personal hygiene and he’d pretty much adopted them as his own. 

He returned to the bedroom to find Cobb had recovered sufficiently to be propped up on his elbows and giving Boba a slow gentle blowjob as he sat with his back to the pillows. Boba’s head was tipped back against the headboard and his expression was blissful, surprisingly soft for him. 

“I thought you weren’t starting without me,” Din said, climbing back on the bed. 

“This is just to hold him over till you came back,” Cobb said after lifting his mouth, his hand still busy stroking. “He’s been waiting a long time, poor guy. Plus I wanted to get a little more familiar with this cock before it gets very familiar with me.”

“You ended up getting an assistant for your fuck,” Boba said, opening his eyes and rumpling Cobb’s hair with one hand, “so I want the same from you with mine, got it?”

“Got it. I _liked_ having an assistant, I didn’t need to think about any… practicalities.”

“Don’t get too used to it, I like to get more involved than that. Didn’t want a finger in the end?” Boba reached for his shoulder and pulled him in for a kiss; Cobb had gone back to gently sucking his cock, nothing too urgent. 

“I wanted it, but it would have been too much. If I was taking too _long_ to come and Cobb was getting tired, it would have been just what I needed.” He kissed Boba again, moving his hand to stroke his head without thinking about it; he would have stroked anyone else’s hair and he hoped, once he felt the smooth skin and the lumpier scar tissue, that it didn’t feel to Boba like calling attention to what he lacked. He felt Boba’s hand on _his_ head, fingers combing into his hair, then curling to hold tight. It didn’t hurt but it tugged at his scalp and made it tingle. Boba had one hand on his head and the other on Cobb’s, and Din could feel him smirking a bit through their kiss. He was clearly very pleased to be where he was, with two men focused on pleasing him. 

“All right,” said Boba, after a contented sigh. “Cobb, has a taste of dick perked you up enough to get up?”

“Yes, sir,” said Cobb amiably, pushing up onto his hands and knees. 

“That’s good, but if I’m not supposed to call you marshal, why are you calling me sir?”

“Something else you’d like me to call you?” Cobb asked with a playful little smile, angling, Din thought, to win their bet. Boba looked back at him with narrowed eyes, looking quietly amused. 

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I guess if you were calling me sir, you wanted to show me some respect. I’m in charge and you know it, in fact you like it — right?”

“I’m having a great time so far, so yes,” said Cobb. 

“And then there’s how much Din here likes being _mentored,_ is how he chose to put it,” Boba said thoughtfully, turning his attention to him. “You love being led along and told you’re a good boy, don’t you?”

“I — yes,” Din admitted. 

“Good _boy,”_ Boba went on. “You definitely want to feel like the junior partner. Makes you feel safe, I’d guess?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like someone’s taking care of you and protecting you, someone who’s proud of you?”

“Yes,” Din agreed, although this was getting embarrassing. 

“So you seem like good boys who just want to make me proud of you.” Boba looked from one to the other again. “Maybe you should ask yourselves, who’s your daddy?”

“Hot damn, I _told_ you,” Cobb said delightedly to Din. 

“Told him what?” Boba asked, a touch suspiciously. 

“That you’d figure out we’d like that without us even needing to ask,” Cobb fibbed plausibly, and leaned in to kiss him, “so thank you, Daddy.”

Boba made a low, pleased rumble in his throat as he took the kiss. “Well, no more guessing games. When you want something, you ask Daddy, all right? I enjoy spoiling you two.”

Din wasn’t quite sure _how_ Cobb was enjoying this, though he clearly was; if calling Boba Daddy was really hot for him or if he was humouring Boba but enjoying seeing _him_ enjoy it. When Cobb had first brought it up as a bet he’d thought it sounded funny and kind of pervy, but only kind of since it clearly didn’t mean seriously pretending to be their father; now he heard it used for real he found it was definitely doing something for him. He’d liked Boba teasing him, he’d _really_ liked the coaching part, and even if they had turned out to be roughly the same age (hell, they were both younger than Cobb), he still liked thinking of him as senior to himself somehow, in charge, able to guide him. So when he answered that “all right?” with “Yes, Daddy,” he felt a little shiver in the nape of his neck and a sort of warm downward tug low in his belly. 

“Right,” said Boba, “now that we’ve got that settled, time to fuck.” He got up on his knees and shuffled round behind Cobb to inspect him. “Round here with me, Din,” he said with a brief sideways nod of his head, “and bring the lube. Look at that,” he said as Din joined him, pressing Cobb’s buttocks apart. “Still loose. You did that. Not to mention painting the walls. Look at all that cum.”

“Hey,” said Cobb a touch indignantly. 

“Hey, what? Was anything I said not true?” Boba asked, teasing at the pink rim of Cobb’s anus with his thumb. “And isn’t that exactly what you wanted? For Din to loosen you up ready for Daddy dick?”

“Well, yeah, just… I’m not used to the colour commentary on my asshole.”

“You should get used to it. It’s meant as a compliment. Or do you not like to hear how fuckable you look?”

“I like it fine,” Cobb said. He settled down on his elbows, keeping his tail high. “So thank you, Daddy.”

Boba chuckled. “Are you used to taking two men in a row?”

“Clearly not.”

“Let’s change that. Din?” He held out his hand, palm up, and Din, who had been preoccupied by the sight of Cobb’s taut buttocks and the way his ring twitched as Boba thumbed it, poured out some lube and was deeply embarrassed by how much he enjoyed the approving smile that got him. 

Cobb gave a low “oof” as Boba slid two fingers into him, and arched his back. “Are you okay, babe?” Din asked, stroking his hip.

“Uh-huh. You?”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, some guys would get bent out of shape seeing their man get fingered by someone else,” Cobb said with a small laugh that blended into a low moan as Boba touched something inside him. 

“Oh, right, _that.”_

That made Cobb laugh again, kind of a helpless giggle that kept getting broken up by moans as Boba kept working at the sweet spot he’d found. “Don’t mind?” Cobb asked. 

“I don’t seem to.”

“Good,” said Boba, “because we’re getting close to your last chance to say something if you did. Soon I’ll be inside him.”

“Yes _please,_ Daddy,” said Cobb, who was still having a slight giggling problem, although he was also rocking his hips back against Boba’s hand. 

“Din? Better get me ready,” Boba said. “I don’t expect to wait.”

Din moved quickly to slick Boba’s cock, and got his hair grabbed again and a long, deep kiss as thanks. He’d heard Boba telling Cobb in the bathroom that he didn’t normally kiss that much, and he wondered if he _wanted_ to but didn’t for some reason, because he seemed damn keen on it now. His hand was still on the thick shaft he’d been lubing, sliding up and down, and Boba breathed against his lips, “Come on then, put me in. Put _my_ cock in your man’s ass — since you do it every damn day.” He had a dangerous kind of smile and it reminded Din very firmly that even if Boba was your friend and had no reason or desire to hurt you, in fact the opposite, he was never _safe._

So he said, “Yes, Daddy,” and held his cock and guided it into place. Even if Cobb was very relaxed from his orgasm and a bit loose from Din’s cock, it took a firm push to get the head to pop inside the rim and Cobb’s moaning turned very shaky. “Are you still okay, babe?”

“Fff…” Cobb had dropped his head on his folded arms on the bed, and it was a moment before he lifted it and said, “I’m fine. But please go slow, okay? I want it but it’s feeling real tight inside me.”

“Don’t worry. Daddy’s got you.” Boba wrapped both hands around Cobb’s narrow hips, steadying him, then slowly drove his cock further in with an exultant sigh. Cobb’s back twitched and he shuddered, his hands twisting into the folds of the blanket under him while he gave a deep, joyful moan. “See? You can take it. Nice and deep. This must be the gentlest I’ve been with anyone, you two are spoiled as hell.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Cobb said faintly. 

“Kind of like how it feels, though,” Boba murmured, pulling back and then sinking in deeper. He took several patient, shallow strokes to get his full shaft inside Cobb, grinding his hips against his backside to ensure he couldn’t get even a hair deeper. “You all right there still?”

Cobb nodded and whimpered. Boba gave him a sharp little smack on the ass and he yelped. “Answer properly — are you all right?”

“Yes!” Cobb cried. “Fuck me!” Din lay down beside him to get a proper look at his face and be sure he wasn’t just being brave. He was scarlet and sweating, but the pleasure and the tension shone out of his face together. He wrapped an arm around Cobb and kissed him, feeling his mouth twitch and pant as his body rocked with the growing force of Boba’s thrusts. Boba shifted his position, from being on both knees to resting on one, the other leg bent with the foot firmly planted, and started pumping harder, grunting deep in his throat. “Oh, _kriff,”_ Cobb breathed. “He’s gonna fuck me into the mattress. Din… babe… can you help me?”

“What do you need?”

“Hand on my cock.”

“You got it.” He could see Cobb’s cock was half-erect again, swinging and slapping against his thigh, and as soon as he held it he could feel a surge as it stiffened up more. Cobb really did just need his hand to _be_ there, nothing fancier than holding him while he fucked into the circle of Din’s fingers and thumb, still slippery from helping Boba in. He made a wordless, joyful sound, and Din stroked his back with his other hand — he had been feeling not jealous or left out exactly, but just as if he wasn’t _helping_ and now he was. Between them he and Boba would overwhelm Cobb with pleasure, and that felt just right. Cobb’s knees were sliding further apart, and Boba hitched him up sharply. 

“Could you let him lie down?” Din asked. “He really likes it that way.”

“You okay with my weight on you, Cobb?” Boba asked. There was no clear answer, Cobb was past that point, but Din felt confident enough answering for him. 

“You don’t weigh much more than I do, it’s fine.”

“Nah, let’s just flip him,” said Boba. “You help me roll him over.” He pulled out and Cobb wailed, “No!”

“You don’t wanna turn over?” Din asked. 

“Don’t _stop!”_

“I’m not stopping, trust me,” Boba said with a sharp laugh. “I’m a long way from done.” He and Din rolled Cobb onto his back and he hooked both hands behind Cobb’s knees and lifted his backside clear off the bed. “Din?” Din rose on his knees and helped push Boba’s cock back into Cobb’s ass, getting a rough wet kiss as a reward. “Good boy, you know your job. Look after him for me, eh?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Because Daddy’s got his hands full now.” He gripped Cobb’s thighs tight — Din could also see overlapping fresh, red handprint bruises on his hips — and started thrusting fast. Din held Cobb’s bouncing cock again and leaned over him, lying back with his arms over his head, clutching handfuls of the bedding. 

“You good there, babe?”

Cobb nodded, panting; he was biting his lips again, so Din made a point of kissing him deep and hard. 

“Oh, he’s right where he wants to be, aren’t you?” Boba grunted. “Right in his place, ass in the air, getting fucked silly. No topping from the bottom now, is there?”

“No, Daddy!” Cobb panted. “Oh, _fuck,_ Din, I feel so good!” He came a minute or two later in the middle of a kiss, which smothered the near-scream as his cock twitched and jerked in Din’s grip and spat a thick stream of cum onto his belly, reaching to his chest at that angle. 

“There you go,” said Boba, “you can say ‘thank you, Daddy’ later when you’ve got your breath back. Just bear with me a bit longer, bub.”

The only flaw was that he clearly couldn’t come quite yet and the continued thrusting was getting painful for Cobb. “Slow down, Daddy,” he said pleadingly. 

It seemed to cost him a big effort but Boba did slow his stroke. “Sorry, bub, Daddy doesn’t want to hurt you, it’s just… damn, I thought I’d’ve come by now.” 

“What if I stuck my finger in, like we talked about?” Din suggested. 

“I don’t get fucked,” Boba said warningly.

“It’s just a finger. Just the tip. See if it finishes you off.”

“Fuck it, let’s try.” His eyes widened in shock at the penetration and his hips snapped forward, bouncing Cobb. It took just a few strokes after that, and he came so hard he swayed forward and seemed like falling for a moment before Din caught him with his arm across his chest. 

“You okay, Daddy?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Boba said weakly. “Just need to… need to lie down.” He pulled out of Cobb with a final, squishy pop and lowered himself with his arms before rolling on his back and going limp, his chest heaving with deep breathing that gradually slowed, his face relaxed into a look of near-bliss. 

Din kissed his forehead and moved back to Cobb, who looked similarly dreamy and exhausted. He kissed him softly and slowly and rested their heads together as he asked, “You good?”

“I’m gonna feel that in the morning,” Cobb said with a rueful smile. “Babe, if you’re not beat yet could you get me some bacta? Just for insurance. Heal up any little abrasions there might be.”

“There’s a ton in the bathroom,” Boba said without lifting his head or opening his eyes. “Cupboard under the sink. Paranoid about it these days.”

“Of course. You take it easy,” Din said. His legs were very definitely wobbly when he got off the bed, with no excuse other than how hard he was, getting to the point of feeling sore. He’d ask about finishing off later, Cobb needed to be comfortable first.

He was glad he thought to bring back a washcloth as well as the bacta because each time he thought he’d wiped away all the cum Cobb would sigh and shift a little bit and more would leak or bubble out.

“I’m sorry,” Cobb said, trying not to giggle, “I know that’s so gross for you to deal with.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Boba, “I’d lick you clean if I felt like moving.”

“I’m just so full,” said Cobb happily. “Between the two of you I’m flooded. I really like being shared, turns out. Sorry ‘bout the puddle in your bed, Boba.”

“That’s still Daddy to you.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, till tomorrow.”

“I think it’s tomorrow already, but I get you. Thank you, darlin’, that feels so nice and cool. Can you work a little more inside? That’s perfect.” He lifted his head a bit, resting it on a folded arm. “Did you enjoy watching him do me? Like, was it good for you or you just didn’t mind and you were happy I liked it?”

“I thought at first I was just going to be happy for you but it kept getting better, especially when I was helping. Are you too tired to do anything else? I’m still…”

“C’mon up here.” Cobb guided him to sit astride his waist as he lay on his back. “My ass is done but we’ve still got options. How about this?” He squeezed bacta into his palms and wrapped both hands around Din’s cock. “Fuck into that a little. Enjoy the squish.” He gladly thrust into them, snapping his hips back and forth, grateful that Cobb was making it so simple. 

He heard a grunt and the mattress moved as Boba rolled over and sat up, and shuffled in behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He sounded sleepy, but he kissed Din’s neck and mumbled, “You were so good for both of us. You deserve a bit more spoiling. Want me to finger you now?”

“Yes, please.” 

“Good boy.” He scooped up some bacta that had squished out between Cobb’s fingers and brought it back behind Din to rub in. Then he had pleasure wrapped around his cock, and prodding into his ass, and Boba’s hand was warm against his chest, holding him against his body, and his mouth was wet on the nape of his neck. He shut his eyes and let his head drop back a bit, thrusting mindlessly.

“I think you have our boy overwhelmed,” said Cobb. “He deserves it.”

“Come on, bub, come for us and then we can all get some sleep.”

“That’s it, baby, you’re nearly there, aren’t you? Make us proud.”

“Come for Daddy.”

“There you go!”

It was a hot, bright-feeling orgasm, the kind that shot through you quickly and left you quivery, satisfied but in a place where you could rally if you wanted to, but all he wanted was to lie down in between them and slip into a warm dark sleep, Cobb stroking his back. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before, complicated feelings, and an addition to the family.

The morning sun on his face woke Din up, and the fact that there  _ was _ morning sun on his face, that he wasn’t in the familiar bedroom with the blackout curtains protecting his privacy, gave him a jolt of panic that only subsided after he opened his eyes, looked around and saw that he was in Boba’s room, the door was closed, there was no sign of anyone in here but Boba and Cobb, still asleep, and even assuming an inquisitive bird or something flew by, he didn’t think he’d be visible from the window. It was, for now, okay. What passed for okay, given that he’d decided to break with the Creed again last night. And not even for a reason as good as “I have to say goodbye to my precious child” or “I love this man with all that’s left of my heart.” Was it going to be one of those things that came easier each time, like killing people? Were his standards getting lower? What was done was done, and he still thought Boba was a trustworthy person, but he couldn’t square what he was doing with his general principles. He just couldn’t think too much about that for the moment. He deferred it guiltily. 

He felt better than he probably deserved to for the amount he’d drunk. He just felt as tired as if he hadn’t slept at all, and his mouth and throat were sand-dry. He was sandwiched in between Cobb and Boba — Cobb, as usual, was cuddled up to him as he lay on his back, while Boba had turned onto his side with his back to Din. He gazed with drowsy curiosity at the broad, muscular brown back, the scars and interrupted tattoos and the few small patches that looked like they were just original skin, with little freckles or moles. It was a shame about the tattoos. They looked like they had been beautiful once, complex and greenish black and geometric. The area of skin they had once covered told you a lot about Boba’s patience and tolerance for pain — he’d talked about being lucky to escape the pain of acid burns on his ass, but both buttocks were heavily inked. He found himself wondering if tattoos had become a mainstream Mandalorian thing he just didn’t know about, something you might have because you actually planned to show your skin to people, or whether Boba had them because he wasn’t a mainstream Mandalorian either, just in the other direction; Din had been brought up within the strictest tradition and Boba had had to make his own way without anyone to teach him his culture. He really should have been adopted and cared for properly.

Dank farrik, he remembered at some point last night being maudlin drunk and declaring that he wanted to somehow adopt Boba when he was a kid, something like that. Had Boba  _ heard _ that? He’d have to ask Cobb, assuming Cobb remembered any better than he did, but they were usually good that way, one would remember the things the other forgot so they could each be the other’s back-up brain.

Thinking back over it, it had been a very, very strange night. He still couldn’t really account for how he’d started to feel about Boba; did the exception he’d thought only worked for someone he fell in love with also work for someone he wanted to be really good friends with? It didn’t seem to apply to Cara and he didn’t think he would want it to. But he had felt it, and it wasn’t gone when the night was over; it was sort of dormant but if Boba were to wake up and roll over and kiss him, he would like it. It wouldn’t fill him with love the way it would if Cobb did that but he’d enjoy the feeling and want to give it back. So that was new. 

He needed to pee, and there was no more ignoring it, so he tried to gently and carefully extricate himself from between the other two. Boba didn’t notice, but Cobb woke up and looked at him bleary-eyed, then groaned and dropped his head on the pillow again. 

“Good morning,” Din whispered.

“Morning,” Cobb mumbled. “I feel like shit run over twice.”

“Bad hangover?”

“Killer. Could you be really kind and bring me a drink of water? If there’s a cup or something in the bathroom?”

“Sure. I’m just going to pee, and I’ll bring the water back.” He kissed Cobb’s forehead, clambered over him and went to the bathroom. He had a very long pee, washed his hands and then his face in case that made him feel less drained (he felt the same, but with a wet face), found that there was a cup by the sink and had a long drink himself before refilling it for Cobb. Then he decided that, although it wasn’t good manners to go through other people’s cupboards uninvited, they were on a sufficiently intimate footing with Boba now to bypass that. He wasn’t doing it just to be nosy, anyway. The mirrors over the sink were cabinet doors and he opened them up. 

It was as well stocked as a small pharmacy. After hearing the story of his injuries last night, and how painful they were and how much more he had suffered because of the limits to what the tribe could give him, he could understand Boba wanting to make sure he always had whatever he’d need to treat any injuries on hand from now on, but he was still a bit surprised at what he seemed to feel was necessary. There were dressing packs in here that you would use for battlefield wounds, not for anything you might expect to happen to you in or around your home. Maybe Boba simply assumed anywhere might turn into a battlefield. That was certainly Mandalorian of him. The palace had an excellent defensive position but if it ever did come under siege, well, they wouldn’t run short of first aid supplies for a while. 

In any case, he located rehydration salts and dissolved a dose in the water cup, and capsules that ought to take care of any headache short of a migraine, and took them back with him. He also noticed their underwear that they’d dropped on the floor undressing last night, and scooped that up too, putting his back on and carrying Cobb’s over his arm.

Cobb had moved from the bed to the couch by the window, and had pulled the long drapes over the window mostly shut. He was half-lying against the arm of the couch and rubbing the inner corners of his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Here’s your water,” Din said, still in a whisper since Boba didn’t appear to have woken up, “and I found you these too, for the hangover. And if you want to put something on.” 

“Thank you, babe, you’re a real blessing,” Cobb said. He swallowed the capsules and drained the water and sighed, then pulled on his underwear. “Okay, I should start to feel human before too long.”

Din sat down beside him and put an arm around him. “What species do you feel like now?”

“Womp rat,” said Cobb with a rueful smile.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Din said with a sympathetic wince, and kissed his cheek.

“You look like you’re feeling better than I do,” said Cobb, returning the kiss and listing over with his head on Din’s shoulder instead of the couch arm. 

“Just very tired,” said Din. 

“You were so drunk. You really oughtta feel worse. For my sake.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder next time.”

“Couldja get me some more water?”

“Of course.”

After he brought it back and Cobb drank it, they sat quietly for a minute or two, slumped together on the couch, and then Cobb said, “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“All that kriffing daddy nonsense, I thought I was being so funny and now I just feel stupid and kind of gross,” he said, scratching his beard.

“But everyone enjoyed it. I think Boba  _ really _ enjoyed it,” said Din. 

“Yeah, well just ‘cause we all have rampant daddy issues is no reason to get all horny and weird about it.” Cobb sighed. “I’m sorry, darlin’, that’s not fair to you, you can’t really remember your dad so it’s not the same.”

“Well, no. I think I called him Papa. So calling Boba Daddy has nothing to do with him. I’m just using Daddy like… like a pet name, like calling you babe. It’s just a person I want to take care of me, instead of a person I want to take care of. Were you thinking of your real father?”

“No, thank goodness. I just feel gross about using the name I used for him, for this. Those things should stay separate, you know?”

“Well, we don’t have to do it again. We don’t  _ have _ to do anything,” Din said.

“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you? You were really into it.”

“It was good but it wasn’t so great I don’t want to do without it. You’re the most important thing to me and I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you, baby. I’m sorry for being weird about it. I mean, it was my idea and now I’m the one complaining about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You were drunk. We were all being weird.”

“Yeah, well… remind me not to get that drunk around Boba again.”

Din blinked, a little concerned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m already embarrassed to look him in the eye today, I don’t want a repeat performance.”

“You mean… what are you getting at? Would you not have wanted to go to bed with him if you were sober?” Now he was really worried, if he’d somehow persuaded Cobb into something he didn’t even really want to do, drunkenly thinking everything was fine.

“No, no, no, not like that. I mean, if I’d been sober I sure would have had better judgement, and if he’d been sober I doubt he would’ve talked the way he did that made all the difference for you, and if  _ you’d _ been sober I bet you wouldn’t have taken your helmet off… are you still okay about that?”

“I’m… not not okay. But it does really mess up what I was thinking about you being my only exception. It was a good experience but I’ve got some mixed feelings about it now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d say too. Good experience. I mean,  _ really _ good experience. Set aside the daddy thing, he’s a dynamite top. But some mixed feelings the morning after.”

Din hesitated, but needed to ask. “Was he a  _ lot  _ better than me?”

Cobb blinked and turned his head to look at his face. “What makes you think he was better?”

“He has more experience, and a bigger dick, and also I was there to see and hear you, you loved it.”

“Well, get that idea out of your head now. The experience doesn’t matter, you’ve got more experience with  _ me.  _ He’d be way too intense for me every day, just look at these bruises.” He pulled down the waistband of his shorts to show the overlapping handprints on his hips. “And his dick’s just thicker than yours. Yours might be longer by a smidge, if that matters to you. Maybe a smidge and a half. He’s an effort to take, you’re a perfect fit. Plus there’s the part where I love you.” He kissed Din gently on the lips. “Remember that.”

“That’s good to know.” He kissed Cobb back, feeling comforted. 

“I love you  _ but _ your morning breath is especially bad today.”

“Same to you.” It was both sour and bitter.

“Yet only one of us ate ass last night.”

Din snorted and chuckled and kissed him again just to be difficult. “Can we still do that?”

“Whenever you want.”

“So maybe it was worth it to find out we both like that.”

“Oh, I never said it wasn’t worthwhile. Definitely a night to remember.”

“I’m a bit hazy on a few details. Did I at some point tell Boba I wanted to adopt him?”

“What? Oh, no, you told me that, he wasn’t in the room. You were going to get a time machine and adopt me too.”

“Thank goodness, that was bugging me.”

“It was a weird idea, but real cute that you cared so much.”

“Do you want us to… keep on having something special with Boba, or do you want this to be a one-time thing?”

Cobb thought about it, scrunching his brow a little. “I’d kind of like to keep it going some way. I like him, and you’re real close to him, and it seems like we can do this without getting jealous, which would be the main reason I’d want to call it off, if I thought it was going to cause problems between us like that. I need to keep things right with you, that’s all.”

“Do you think it’s weird that we didn’t get jealous? I mean, I was watching him fuck you right in front of me and I just felt horny and wanted to help you feel even better.”

“I don’t care if it’s weird when it works.” Cobb glanced up at him under his eyebrows. “Anyway, have you ever  _ been _ jealous?”

Din was embarrassed, but admitted, “When you were telling me about that Sabine lady and how pretty and tough she was.”

“What?” Cobb exclaimed. “Is  _ that _ why you got all snippy about her? I thought you just thought she was trashy for showing her face and painting her armour all gaudy!”

“You said she was as pretty as a sunset or something. You love beautiful, colourful things. I thought it would be way easier for you to be with someone who was already comfortable taking off their helmet any time. I know  _ now _ I didn’t need to worry, but I didn’t feel so sure about you back then. Quit laughing at me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darlin’,” Cobb said, making an effort to stop his rather wheezy muffled laughter and choking it back to a giggle. “I never would’ve guessed. You know I only like men.”

“No, not for sure.”

“Okay then, I only like men. Problem solved. You never, ever have to feel jealous of me with a woman again. Aren’t you the same?”

“No, I’ve had crushes on women too. Just little ones that didn’t go anywhere, but the same as the little crushes I had on men. The person I liked the best before I met you was a woman.”

“Okay, that surprises me. But you’d know best.”

“Do you feel any kind of jealousy knowing that?” Din said, a little hopefully, and wondering why he was hoping for something that wasn’t really good.

“Well, no. I mean, you just said it didn’t go anywhere, so… yeah, it just doesn’t seem to matter. In the past, didn’t go anywhere, she’s not around now trying to catch your eye. Who was she? I’m curious about what kind of woman you like.”

“Her name’s Omera. She lives in a little krill-farming co-op on Sorgan, they make spotchka.”

“She makes my favourite drink? I already like her.”

“She has a little girl. Winta got on well with Grogu. She would have liked us to stay and live with them. She was just… a very kind, warm-hearted, patient person. But tough too, she could hold her nerve when she was scared. Good shot. Nice eyes, pretty hair. I really wondered what it would be like to stay there… but she wanted more than I was ready to give just then, and we needed to keep moving on to be safe.”

“Was she a better shot than me?” Cobb asked.

“That’s a weird question.” He thought she’d make a better sniper than Cobb would, actually, but saying so might hurt his feelings.

“I know, I’m bein’ silly. Do you want me to feel a little jealous so you feel special?”

“I think I do a little.”

“Sorry I can’t give you that, baby. Not this time. I do get jealous of your friends, if that’s any consolation.”

“My friends?”

“Yeah, early on I was jealous as hell of Cara and Boba and Mayfeld and everyone, because they knew you better than me and had more time with you than me and they could be more help to you than me. I got over that because I got to make up for it. But Boba especially, because you’re both Mandalorian and, you know, he could actually  _ be _ what you thought I  _ was _ when you first saw me.”

“Well, he’s pretty different from that too. I was imagining a Mandalorian  _ like me. _ Back when I assumed I was normal.”

“You’ve still got more in common than with non-Mandalorians.”

“Maybe, but the differences look bigger close up.” 

“That smidge and a half?” Cobb asked, his eyes twinkling. 

“I was thinking of the other stuff. But… they don’t feel like differences that have to separate us, and once I would’ve said they absolutely did. That’s good, right?”

“That’s really good. I might get a little jealous, but I want you to have good friends. Especially  _ because _ they can help you with the things I can’t.”

“And because they can be your friends too.”

“I would welcome that but don’t plan on banging any more of ‘em.”

“I think that would be a smart policy.”

They smiled at each other and lapsed into quiet for a while, Cobb’s head on Din’s shoulder and Din’s head resting against his. He felt contented like this, for now. Talking to Cobb had taken care of at least some of his doubts (he had been fully prepared to accept that Boba was better than him in bed but it was lovely to know he didn’t have to) and the rest he would just have to go on thinking about later. His main feeling now was just that he loved Cobb and was grateful to love someone who  _ did _ make him feel so much better about things. That was a pretty wholesome way to be feeling the morning after a drunken threesome, he thought. 

The quiet was eventually broken by the sound of Boba rolling over in bed. Din looked over the back of the couch and saw him sitting up and turning to swing his legs out of bed, then just sitting there with his arms on his knees and his head bowed. Din heard him take a deep breath in and blow it out. 

“Good morning,” he called out, since he wasn’t sure Boba knew they were there. Boba’s head bobbed up and his back straightened, and he looked over to see them. Din gave him a little wave and Cobb, who’d been semi-dozing again, stirred and looked over at him too.

“Oh, hey,” he said. 

“I thought you two had already left,” said Boba.

“Not yet,” said Din. “We just woke up a little while ago.”

“Didn’t want to wake you talking so we came over here,” said Cobb, sitting up straighter. “How’re you feeling? I’m hungover as heck but Din’s in better shape.”

Boba seemed to be thinking about it. “My mouth feels like the sole of a Tusken’s shoe,” he said. “I’ll live.” He got off the bed and went past them into the bathroom. After a moment they heard the hiss of the shower running. 

“When we weren’t in the bed, he thought we’d snuck out on him,” Cobb said quietly. “Didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Before I said good morning he was sitting there all bowed over. He looked sad. Perked right up when he heard me.”

“I mean, I thought about trying to find some coffee, but not leaving.”

“I wonder if we should get dressed.”

“I want a shower too, first. Just speaking as the guy who got fucked twice and came on himself both times.”

“Good point. Well, you could go in with him.”

“Except for the part where I’m still embarrassed.”

“Oh, come on. I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah? What if he says, ‘Scrub Daddy’s back’?”

“Then I’ll scrub it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind scrubbing his back, it’s just the name. He thinks I’m really into it now.”

“Cobb,” said Din, getting up and holding out a hand to him, “you’re a badass. You drove the slavers out of Mos Pelgo. Together we killed a dragon. Why are you sitting there acting like you can’t face telling a man you don’t want to play last night’s game any more?”

Cobb smiled and shook his head. “Well, when you put it that way.” He took Din’s hand and let him haul him up. 

The water sound had shut off while they were crossing the room, and by the time they entered the bathroom Boba was out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. “Shower’s free,” he said, unnecessarily. Then, clearly deciding that this wasn’t how the kingpin of Tatooine behaved with guests in his bathroom, he said briskly, “Listen, I know things can look different in the light of day. I’ll just say this. I have no regrets about last night, but if you’d like to go on as if it didn’t happen, I understand and I’ll leave it at that.”

“We don’t have regrets,” said Din. “We’ve talked it all over.”

“Oh,” said Boba. “Okay.” If he’d been prepared to give them a graceful exit from a situation they no longer wanted to be in, he didn’t seem to know what to do if they stayed. 

“In fact, we were hoping it wouldn’t be the only time,” said Cobb. “It was a lot of fun and in an odd way it made me feel closer to Din, that we could do that without hurting each other. It wouldn’t work with just anyone.”

“Good,” said Boba, sounding relieved. “Glad to hear it wasn’t just a pity fuck.”

“I don’t do pity fucks in the first place,” said Cobb. 

“What part of that felt like we pitied you?” Din asked. 

“The way I acted like a pathetic sadsack up on the roof there. All that poor-me stuff.”

“Do you remember any pathetic sadsack up on the roof at all, baby?” Cobb asked. 

“No. I remember a friend who opened up his heart to us.”

Boba went “pfft” and started to laugh, which Din found pretty rude when he was being sincere. “Sorry,” he said, still laughing, “sorry, you’re just too good to be true sometimes.” He came over and hugged him and slapped his butt, then stood back from him with his hands on his shoulders and chuckled again. “All right,” he said, “I’m going to see about breakfast,” and walked out.

“Did I say something funny?” Din asked Cobb indignantly.

“Just something sweet,” Cobb said, smiling behind his hand. “Come on, let’s clean up for breakfast.” When he got into the shower, he turned it on long enough to turn around under it and get wet all over, then shut it off and started soaping himself.

“I think you need to wash your hair too,” said Din, getting in beside him and turning on the water again.

“Why?” Cobb asked.

“Is there a polite way to say I think you’ve got cum in your hair?”

“Well, how’d it get up there?” Cobb asked, as if asking how it dared. He reached past Din to turn the water off again.

“I don’t know, you were in an odd position near the end, your hips were bouncing, it could’ve gone…” He drew an arc in the air with his finger and whistled.

“Well, that’s a problem, ain’t it? Because a bald man isn’t likely to have shampoo in his shower.” It looked like he was right. There was only a dispenser on the wall that gave liquid soap.

“Just use soap,” Din said.

“Barber’ll yell at me. He’s got views about what’s good for my scalp.”

“Yeah?” Din asked, turning the water back on. “Is cum good for your scalp?”

“I’ve heard tell it’s good for your skin, as it happens,” Cobb said, ducking his head under the spray, “but I’d rather not go around with it gumming up my hair, so soap it is.” He reached for the tap again and Din stopped his hand.

“Just leave it on,” he said. “A place this size, this isolated, has to have water recycling equipment. You’re not really wasting much. Treat yourself.”

“I never really thought of that,” Cobb said. “I knew there was all kinds of stuff down in the cellars to do with heating and cooling and plumbing, but my work was all upstairs so I didn’t know the details. It just seems more like the Hutts to be wasteful, not even use their grey water for cultivation like we got all the pipes in Mos Pelgo hooked up for, but then, they were lavish where it showed and cheap as hell where it didn’t. They wouldn’t want to pay more for tank water than they had to. Okay. This once.”

“You’re usually the one encouraging me to just enjoy things,” Din said, and kissed him. 

When they emerged clean, damp-haired and towel-wrapped, there was a table in front of the couch with a coffee pot, cups, bread and things that went with it. Boba was sitting there in his undershirt and pants drinking coffee, and raised his cup to them when he saw them. 

“Just what I could round up,” he said. “Ran into Fen on the way down to the kitchen and she gave me an earful about keeping her awake with gunfire and breaking glass in the middle of the night. I said, why didn’t you come running to my rescue if you heard gunfire? She said she also heard a lot of silly laughter and she didn’t think it was worth her while.”

“Fennec doesn’t strike me as the type to give you an earful,” said Din, pouring coffee for himself and Cobb. “She doesn’t talk too much.”

“It’s a short, quiet but very concentrated earful,” said Boba. “No words wasted, it’s true.” He glanced at Cobb as he sat down. “How many of those bruises you reckon are mine and how many are Din’s?”

“All the ones made with a mouth are Din’s, the ones made with a hand are yours, I’d say.” Cobb sat down carefully and took his cup. 

“Still sore?” Boba asked.

“Just tender.” He drank and closed his eyes contentedly a moment.

“It probably means I’m a bastard, but the hottest thing I can see a man wearing is the marks of my hands on his hips,” Boba said quietly, watching him over the rim of his cup. 

“If you’re angling for round two this morning, I regret to say I am too tender for that,” said Cobb, sounding amused. 

“I just wanted to offer you a little compliment.”

“You’re not worried about anyone pitying you any more,” said Din, sitting down between them. 

“Started getting my self-confidence back once I had something to eat,” said Boba. “I think it was a blood sugar thing. The way I look at it now is, I got not one but two very damn presentable men into my bed and we all had a good time. I’ll admit an old baby picture and a sob story isn’t usually a seduction move, but I didn’t plan it that way and whatever, I’m happy with the results.”

“Even if you thought what I said earlier was sappy,” said Din, buttering a piece of bread, “I think you sharing your feelings like you did has to be what made me feel close enough to you that I started wanting you. It wasn’t about you being sad, it was about you being really honest and personal. I know how hard that is.”

“Well that’s a weird kink for you to have, honesty,” said Boba, “but I’m happy to accommodate kinks. Didn’t do too badly on the daddy business last night, and that was all improvised.”

“Wait a sec,” said Cobb, “you don’t normally tell guys to call you Daddy?”

“No, you seemed to be hinting for it so I just thought okay, give it a go. Who’s Daddy when it’s just you two? I’m guessing Cobb.”

“Neither of us,” said Din, bemused. “We’ve never done that before.”

“We thought it was  _ your _ kink,” Cobb said with a hollow laugh. 

“So you’re telling me it was all Daddy this and Daddy that, and it’s not even a thing for anyone here?” Boba asked incredulously. 

“No,” said Cobb, at the same time Din said, “Not before.”

“I mean… I enjoyed it,” said Boba. “Both of you calling me Daddy and Din being my horny little helper, that, uh, that did a lot for me.”

Cobb had gone red and was very interested in the contents of his coffee cup. 

“I liked it too,” Din said carefully, “but Cobb doesn’t feel right about it now.”

“I mean, it was hot,” Cobb said quickly, “I’m not saying for a second it wasn’t hot, I’ve just got — I’ve just got a little problem with using the name Daddy that way, now my head’s clear.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m not bothered, I can blow your back out just as well without it.” Boba sounded utterly unconcerned. “Listen, if you wanted to go back to ‘sir,’ that’s fine too.”

“Might work, but I need time to think it over.” He still wasn’t meeting Boba’s eyes, but he looked less flustered. 

“Take your time,” said Boba. He sat back, laid his arm along the back of the couch, and brushed his forefinger against the large overlapping love-bites he’d left on the nape of Din’s neck. “But you liked it, eh bub?”

A wave of goosebumps went up Din’s back to meet the finger-touch and he said, “Uh, yes.”

“Well, that’s... interesting. Was anyone else doing things they don’t normally do but you assumed I wanted you to?”

“Not this time,” said Cobb, “but I’m gonna laugh every time I think about the daddy kink that wasn’t really anyone’s. The orphan daddy kink.”

“I was wondering what you normally do,” Din said, “since you were telling us you don’t normally kiss a lot, you’re not normally gentle.” Boba was still tracing a little circle over the bump at the top of his spine with his fingertip and it was all he could do not to squirm. There were times when a pretty small, innocuous touch suddenly hot-wired him and he was humiliated by how aroused he felt; the time Cobb had so kindly taken his hand and then his fingertip had brushed the bare inside of his wrist was one of those, and this was another. It was a weirdly vulnerable feeling to be laid open like that, though at least by this time he was somewhat used to it. 

“When I have sex it’s not usually so… emotional,” said Boba. “It’s just taking care of a basic need. It turned out different because it was you two, and… well, you made me feel like the man I used to be. No, that’s not really it. You made me feel different, but like I still had it where it counts. It’s been a long time. It was a really nice way to break the drought. Thanks,” he concluded, sheepishly. He patted Din’s back and took his hand away, which spared him from further surges of arousal but was actually a little bit disappointing, since however humiliating they might be the surges felt  _ nice. _

“I’m glad we could do that for you,” said Cobb. “I guess we might have different definitions, but I don’t think it’s pity to see someone hurting and want to comfort them.”

“You still really think what we were doing was comfort?” Boba asked. 

“I do think of sex as comfort, yeah. It’s not the  _ form _ of comfort I’d offer to everyone, and it’s not  _ only _ comfort — but as comfort goes it’s pretty damn comforting, wouldn’t you say?”

“If you’re telling me you were just being  _ kind _ and you didn’t really want me to fuck you, I call bullshit.”

“Heck no, of course I wanted you to fuck me. I can’t fake that kind of thing and I wouldn’t want to.”

“Good. Glad we’ve sorted that out.” There was a lull in the conversation during which they ate and Din wondered if Boba was going to want to touch him again and how Cobb would feel about that and if the fact that Boba had got dressed meant he had no such intentions and whether just sitting here in a towel counted as offering him some temptation or not. 

After his second cup of coffee Boba asked, “Do you boys need to be going soon?”

They exchanged a look, and Cobb said, “I guess we should get home before the end of the day, but we’re not in any big hurry.”

“Good,” said Boba. “You’re welcome as long as you want to stay.”

“No big plans today?”

“Nothing that won’t keep. The fella Rima brought in last night’s the only thing on my agenda, and if he has a bit longer to think about how very,  _ very _ dumb it was to try to step into the vacuum where I just shut down one slaver ring, especially while being a two-bit third-string piece of crap like he is, that’ll just help soften him up. We’ll have a good talk when I’m ready.”

“Then what?” Cobb asked. 

“Why, then I turn him over to the proper authorities,” Boba said, with an expression of the mildest innocence. “I wouldn’t think of taking the law into my own hands. Would you, marshal?”

Cobb gave him a Look. 

“No, I really do turn them over to the New Republic,” said Boba, “via an intermediary, of course. Why should I have the inconvenience of disposing of a body when they’re meant to be the big damn heroes cleaning up all the corruption? I’m testing to see whether a steady feed of the lowlife I round up makes them get serious about attending to Tatooine, or makes them take it for granted they don’t need to. That information helps me plan my next steps. I’m betting they’ll get complacent and I can pretty much have a free hand round here, but it’d be foolish not to check.”

“What kind of intermediary do you use?” Din asked. Doing it as a test made more sense; disposing of a body on Tatooine was hardly inconvenient. Any body you left out on the dunes would be clean bones in a couple of days, and that was assuming you didn’t live in a castle which probably had a furnace that could burn anything.

“Bounty hunters are good. There’s a general reward for turning in slavers, traffickers and the like. If you’d care to help,” Boba said.

He nodded. “If it fits with my other duties.”

“Well, your other duties are letting you sit here being eye candy, so you can probably manage something,” said Boba. “So I have some time to spend with you, if you want to.”

“Doing what?” Cobb asked, arching his eyebrows.

“You did say you hoped last night wouldn’t be the only time,” said Boba.

“I already said I’m too tender,” said Cobb ruefully. “I wasn’t playing coy.”

“We don’t have to do the same thing. Din might like to be on the receiving end this time. What do you say, Din?”

“I’m too tired,” Din said honestly. “The coffee and food is helping but it can only do so much.”

“Oh,” said Boba, without deflating too visibly. “Well, the famous Fett stamina can be a burden as well as a blessing.” After a moment, he said, “Not that I’ve really got the energy either, it just seems like a waste not to do anything else with you while I’ve got you here.”

Cobb laughed. “We could play cards.”

“I, uh, sometime I’d like to try that, though,” Din said.

“Cards or getting your back door slammed by the two of us?” Boba asked.

“Do you have to slam it right away?”

“I don’t know if we really got this across last night,” said Cobb, “but Din’s really new to taking it. We’ve done it that way three times. All in the last couple of weeks. He still needs it real slow and gentle.”

“Been using training plugs?” Boba asked, practically. 

“The general store in Mos Pelgo doesn’t carry much in the way of buttplugs,” Cobb said, with a slight roll of the eyes, “and we haven’t been into the big city for a while, so no. I do have one, but it’s too big for a beginner.”

“Well, that sounds like a sugar daddy gift, doesn’t it? Graded training set of big-city buttplugs?” Boba asked with a grin. “I’ll have to set you up.”

“You don’t really have to buy me buttplugs,” said Din, vaguely embarrassed as always by the word buttplug itself. 

“Who said I had to?” Boba asked, leaning closer to him. “If I do it’ll be for the pleasure of throwing my money around and feeling like a big man.”

“I mean I can pay for them myself. The money doesn’t matter.”

“Well, then how do I get to feel like a big man?” Boba asked.

“Go downstairs and sit on your throne?” Din suggested with a small smile. 

“It’d just make me very happy to think your tight little asshole was twitching round a big heavy plug all day thanks to me.”

“All day?” Din repeated, startled.

“You really don’t know much about this, do you?”

“That’s not my fault, I never needed to know,” he said, embarrassed again.

“You don’t have to wear it all day,” Cobb said helpfully, “you can if you want to, that’s all. Myself, I liked to put it in before jacking off. As well as feeling good inside me, it made everything else feel more intense, like I’d come harder and for longer. You can just put it in to play with it a little and then take it out if you like. All up to you.”

“The point of a training set is you start with a little one, then when you get used to it you move up to the next one. So gradually, you get comfortable taking something larger inside you. And anyone with, say, a personal interest in your progress would like to hear about it and how you’re feeling,” said Boba. “Aren’t you lucky both of us enjoy teaching you about this stuff? I wouldn’t normally have the patience.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby,” said Cobb, less helpfully because he already was. “You know I like going through your firsts with you. It’s just like that.”

“And you could, just for example, stay in touch through the day about how your ass is feeling being so full, then at the end of the day meet that interested person, and let him take it out and put his cock in its place,” said Boba, who Din suspected was really enjoying his embarrassment. “Possibly while sitting on his throne and holding you on his lap. For example.”

“Oh no. No, definitely not.”

“Why not?” Boba asked, resting his hand at the top of Din’s back again and brushing his thumb from side to side against his nape. 

“There’s no privacy in there. Anyone could come in and see us.”

“Well, yeah, that’s half of why it’s hot. You think I’d have a problem with anyone seeing your ass bobbing up and down while you ride me? Just imagine.” His voice had dropped into a rough purr. 

“You can imagine that all you want, but you need to understand it is  _ not _ happening,” Din said, flustered. 

“It’s okay, baby, he’s just teasing you,” said Cobb, wrapping a protective arm around his waist. 

“But am I?”

“You better be,” Cobb said. 

Din felt that he was being far too passive in between the two of them. He appreciated Cobb being protective but he shouldn’t remotely need it. “That’s enough,” he said. “I don’t want to be teased. When I’m ready to talk about doing it we’ll talk but I don’t want to be played with before then. I’m not here for your amusement.”

“All right, all right,” said Boba, leaning back. “I’m not trying to piss you off. You’d be in no doubt if I was.” He got up and stretched, raising his arms over his head, then bringing his hands to the small of his back and arching it backward. “Well then, guess we’re not just sitting around chatting. Maybe a better use of our time together would be a bit more preparation for your big fight, eh? Unless you’re too tired for that too.”

Cobb sat at the side of a large hall that Boba had presumably emptied of whatever crap it once held and watched the two of them fight. A new piece of knowledge he’d gleaned about Mandalorians, or at least about these two; “too tired for sex” was a perfectly acceptable and understandable condition, “too tired to fight” was, well, fighting words, they wouldn’t stand for  _ that.  _ Din had been up on his feet and gathering up his clothes without further ado. Cobb had been a little worried, given the obvious tension between him and Boba, that things were going to get ugly but it seemed like Din was actually somewhat grateful to Boba for shifting their focus to something he knew well. 

And they were definitely good to watch. You could maybe say Din was a little more agile or graceful, but he naturally looked that way being taller and slimmer — you couldn’t say Boba was lumbering. His style tended towards more firmly planted feet and aggressive forward motion. Both were fast, resourceful and powerful, and deliberately working within tight limits: hand to hand combat only, leave the ground only under your own power, fight to disarm but not disable. The Darksaber and the beskar spear whirled, hummed and clashed as both men strove to their limits.

But he was getting a little fidgety sitting and watching. The surroundings were beginning to get to him again, making him feel cooped up.  _ I don’t need to feel that way, _ he told himself.  _ I’m free. On paper, even. I’m here as a guest. Got spoiled in no uncertain terms last night. _ He browsed back over that in his memory, trying to decide what was the best part. It was pretty fantastic, even if he couldn’t think about all of it without some deep embarrassment. Din’s justification of “Daddy” simply meaning someone he wanted to take care of him was a nice one, just the flip side of “baby,” maybe he should try to think of it and enjoy it like that. And just sit here and enjoy watching the two of them and thinking about their strong bodies and how they’d held him and moved him. Sometimes they paused in their sparring for one to teach the other a move he’d just used, calm and matter-of-fact. Din was clearly getting comfortable with the sword now. 

Cobb’s own fighting experience had always been with ranged weapons like blasters or flamethrowers, or else up close with fists and boots and elbows and whatever improvised weapons could be grabbed, bottles, rocks, mining tools, so he only really knew about swords and spears from books and he’d wondered if the stuff about moving like the sword was an extension of your arm was just kind of poetic and fanciful and wouldn’t work in a real fight where someone was coming at you. It wasn’t, he could see Din doing it, more and more smoothly and naturally. Boba had called him “crap with a sword” the other day, which had only been true in the sense that it seemed to be the weapon he was least good with while still being better with it than about 95% of the population. Boba himself was like lightning with the spear, and between the two of them, well, they really were like something out of a book, knights in shining armour (or in Boba’s case, matt painted armour with a lot of little scratches, nicks and chips). 

Finally Din managed to disarm Boba, sending the spear spinning and chiming away across the stone floor, and brought the humming dark blade within an inch of his head. They stood frozen like a tableau, and only at this point could you see and hear that they were both panting for their lives. 

“That’ll do,” said Boba. Din shut off the Darksaber and lowered his arm. 

“Thank you,” he said.

Boba backed up to the wall, slid down it and sat on the floor. He pulled off his helmet, showing a red, sweating face, and looked up at Din with a crooked grin. “I reckon if we keep that up, you’re going to have to hold back a bit not to take her snotty little ginger head off.”

“Let’s not underestimate her,” said Din. “She’ll be preparing too.” He sat down too and leaned back on his arms. 

“You can take it off, you know,” said Boba. “Get some air under there.”

“It’s still not a habit,” Din said. “Nothing against you. Or Cobb. I forget I have it on at home. I’ll just keep it on for now. Fennec or your daughter might be around. It’s one thing to choose someone I want to show. I don’t ever want to be seen by accident.”

“Fair enough,” said Boba. “Cobb?” He made a vague gesture and Cobb rolled one of the chilled bottles of water he had been minding over to him. “Good man. Thanks.” He held the cold bottle against his face before drinking. Cobb rolled another over to Din, who lifted his helmet enough to drink some, then asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“He’s ogling your naked chin,” said Boba. “Noticed him doing it last night during dinner too.”

“I’m not  _ ogling,”  _ said Cobb cheerfully, “I just happen to appreciate a little glimpse of chin, not to mention lips. And I know you don’t mind me seeing it, so…” He shrugged. 

“But you’ve seen the whole thing,” said Din, sounding bemused. 

“Yeah, so? It’s the  _ glimpse _ when I  _ can’t  _ see the whole thing. It’s… what’s the word… enticing! Plus the sentimental value. Remember that first morning you had breakfast at my place, and I hadn’t seen your face yet, but you let me have that little peek while you ate? And I was so, so happy and giddy in love, so seeing that glimpse is always gonna bring me back a little of that feeling.”

“You just flat-out fell in love with him overnight?” Boba asked with a trace of scepticism. 

“Well, over two nights, because we spent the night before camped out with the Tuskens,” said Cobb. “I barely slept a wink, because I was still sorta thinking I was gonna wake up skinned or staked out for the ants, plus I was going over and over what I’d need to say to my people,  _ plus  _ I was still stewing over the scale of that model,  _ plus _ I was kind of steamed at him for volunteering my town — but at the same time I was thinking he was probably the most amazing man I’d ever met and I loved his voice and his kid was adorable and he had a really,  _ really _ nice ass and I was wondering if there was any way I could persuade him to stay, that is assuming we lived.”

“I slept like a log,” said Din, and Boba gave a little bark of laughter. “But not because I didn’t like you. Because if I have one natural talent, it’s to be able to sleep anywhere, any time. And because I was just focused on the goal, and it wasn’t until after the dragon was dead and I was free to go that I started to feel how much I’d like to spend a little longer with you. And when I did, it wasn’t long before I realised I was — well, at the time I thought I was in trouble. Later on, I knew I was in love.”

“Meanwhile,” said Boba, “I was squatting on a rock watching you through a scope and thinking ‘Fuck these people.’”

“And eventually,” Din mused, “I guess you did.”

“Good one,” said Boba, pointing at him and grinning. 

“You know,” Cobb said, “nice as it is to sit here, we really should get going soon. Day’s getting away from us.”

“True,” said Boba wistfully, “true. But it was fun having you here.” When they had gathered up their things, he walked out to see them off. He held the brow of his helmet to Din’s for a moment, and sort of chucked Cobb under the chin, which surprised but didn’t displease him, then waved them off. They were both quiet and inclined to yawn on the flight home, and Cobb took another little something for the headache that was still hanging around, not to mention his butt still having some complaints about what he’d subjected it to overnight. 

“I enjoyed every bit of that,” he said, settling back into his chair, “but I don’t know how anyone does it on the regular.”

“Do they really?” Din asked. “Maybe they’re just showing off.” 

“Well, they’re also probably thirty-odd years younger’n me.”

“That’ll account for it.”

Cobb stretched out his legs and made a sound in between a laugh and a grunt. “I’m just remembering on the way there I was worrying about how I was gonna maintain my integrity and dignity and figure out what kind of working relationship we could have… and on the way back I’m thinking damn, forgot all about that when I hopped into bed with him.”

“It sounds like you have some regrets after all.”

“They’re not regrets  _ yet.  _ It’s just that feeling of, I don’t know what this is gonna cost me. Maybe nothing. Maybe this actually gives us a bond that means things go better in future. On the other hand, maybe he won’t listen to me about shit and he’ll expect me to roll over for him every time without any argument. Or halfway between. Maybe we get the bond but later on we fall out and everything goes sour.” 

Din sighed. “Well, I hope you’re worrying for nothing. I didn’t think it through either. I was uncomfortable with some of the stuff he said this morning. I still liked how I felt when he touched me, but…. Maybe it doesn’t work when I’m sober.”

“To be fair, I think the throne stuff was just a power fantasy, not like a plan,” said Cobb. “I don’t really see our friend putting himself in such a vulnerable position either. Maybe we just need to say, okay, we don’t get drunk with Boba and we see how things go.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Din sounded a little reluctant. 

“Your trouble is you didn’t get getting shitfaced and screwing someone questionable outta your system twenty years ago,” Cobb said with a wry smile. 

“I didn’t  _ want to _ twenty years ago. And what’s your excuse, at least ten years older’n me?”

“Older’n?”

“Shut up,” Din said, though Cobb could hear in his voice that he was smiling.

“I’m rubbing off on you!”

“Are not.”

“Say y’all.”

_ “You _ don’t say y’all.”

“Very good, I was testing you.” He winked at him. 

When they got home they had a late lunch and made a spirited effort to be more or less normal for the afternoon, but passed out together on the couch after just sitting down for a few minutes and only woke up in time to go to bed. 

“I have been a bad and neglectful marshal,” said Cobb, shaking his head as he climbed into bed in his shorts. “Just a real scamp.”

“No one seemed to care,” Din said, rolling onto his side to let Cobb spoon up behind him. “When I went out to get bread and milk I just got asked if we had a nice weekend.”

“Thanks for doing that, babe.” He gently kissed the back of his neck. In a few days, he thought, the only love-bites on Din would be his, and that would be nice. Like being home together, no guests. “Tomorrow I’ll be a tireless public servant again. My trusty deputy by my side.”

Din woke early, made the coffee, and brought their mugs back to bed. Cobb sat up against the headboard and kissed him on the cheek. “Morning, baby.”

“Good morning.” He sat beside him, sipping his coffee and from time to time glancing over at him. It would be nice to see Cobb by natural morning light, like in Boba’s room, but here it was still better to keep the curtains closed until he was fully dressed. Cobb still looked nice by yellow electric light, his face a little creased with sleep and his hair mashed to one side by the pillow. After washing it yesterday it had been fluffy all day, without his usual pomade to smooth it, and it had looked comically cute. His glances took in the warm hazel of Cobb’s eyes, the lines and angles of his lean body, his crumpled old underwear, the scars scribbled on his skin, all the beloved details of him, and it filled his mind how precious a quiet time like this was, how precious and rare and surprising it was to love and be loved by this dear, good man. He leaned over and kissed the mole on his cheekbone, just under his eye. Cobb turned his head to nuzzle against his cheek and prickle him with his beard. 

“Today,” he said, “I figure we do a general patrol, just see what’s what. Maybe swing out by the Tusken camp and pay our respects. Nothin’ too demanding. Could even be a quiet day. Not that I want to jinx it. And we can ask the barber to lend us his clippers, get you spruced up.”

“Will he want to know why I don’t just come in like a normal customer?” Din asked. 

“Nah. Folks do sometimes ask me why you keep your helmet on. I just say it’s part of a Mandalorian tradition you follow, and it’s important to you to keep it up. They seem pretty satisfied by that. Interesting that they go through me instead of asking you up front. Does anyone ask you when I’m not there?”

“Not adults, for some reason. Children do. I tell them pretty much the same thing you said. One thing I like about your town is that in all the time I’ve been here, no one’s asked me about it in a pushy way or made guesses about what I look like underneath. Maybe it’s respect for you transferring to me. In the past there’s always been someone who wanted to speculate about what species I am, or if I’m disfigured from some accident or disease, or just if I’m an ugly son of a bitch.”

“When the opposite is true. I mean, I did think about telling ‘em it’s because you’re too handsome. That it’s dangerous. Injurious to public morals. If you were to show your face, why, everyone in town would fall in love with you and there’d be fighting in the streets. You made a vow to hide your face after multiple communities tore themselves apart over you. I’m only allowed to look at you with dark glasses on and squinting one eye, and even then I get a little sunburn from your radiance. I was enjoying coming up with all the details and embroidery, but I figured it’d embarrass you so I never actually said it.”

“You figured right.”

“You do know you’re a damn good-looking man though, right? I don’t just love your face because I love you.”

“Why do you want me to know it, though?” Din asked. 

“So you can feel good about it, I guess.”

“I just don’t feel very much about it at all. I feel good about you liking the way I look, but outside of that, it’s not important. It’s not like I’ll show lots of people. You  _ could  _ just love my face because you love me and I’d be equally happy.” He hesitated. “I wondered if, you know, you wouldn’t like me to say anything about your looks because you were bought and sold for them when you were a kid. So I tried to just show I love you — and even before I knew about that I guess compliments don’t come very naturally to me.” 

“Well, I look nothing like I did then, and honestly, getting older has made me feel a lot more like how I look belongs to me. And I like it now. You know, I don’t dress like I do because I don’t want attention,” Cobb said with a little smile. “I mean, from the point of view of the assholes who bought me, my looks are ruined. Grey hair, scars, beard? But for me, all of those are marks of how I grew away from what they wanted of me and became my own man. And now I’m yours too. I’m never in any doubt that you love me, but it’s never gonna bother me if you say something nice about how I look.”

“Well, I do really like your hair and your beard,” Din said. 

“I think you’ve mentioned,” Cobb said, rasping his beard with the side of his thumb and a satisfied expression. 

“And the whole shape of your body. Especially your hips and your legs. And your smile, and your eyes, and I don’t really know what to say  _ about  _ them except they look great to me. Oh, and your eyebrows. Is it weird to like a guy’s eyebrows?”

“Yeah, you’ve crossed a line there, now I think you’re a pervert,” Cobb said, and kissed him. “C’mon, perv, time to face the day.”

They went up and down the main drag of town and then out around the perimeter, a largely uneventful progress apart from the moment a little ways out of town when they heard a bang, a scream, hysterical crying, and sped towards them to find two kids had been playing around with an old blasting cap they found and it had unexpectedly blown up. Fortunately, it had exploded as a result of being thrown and hitting a rock at a little distance from the kids, so they had only been showered with sand and rock chips and sustained no injuries worse than sand in the eyes and a couple of nicks and scratches, but they’d scared themselves silly and took some calming down. Din got the first aid kit from the speeder saddlebag and washed out their eyes with saline and cleaned up the bleeding scratches while Cobb gave them a stern talking-to about the extreme stupidity of playing with explosives and how lucky they were to have all their eyes and fingers. They sobbed and sniffed and said, “Yes, sir” a lot. 

After a bit Cobb beckoned Din over and pulled him aside to talk away from the children. “Pretend we’re talking about whether to put them in jail,” he said. “Think I put the fear of Cobb into ‘em?”

“I think they’re scared enough,” said Din. 

“What do you think, one last warning, or take ‘em home to their parents? I’m leaning to parents, but you’ve got a vote.”

“I’d kind of like to be good cop for once, but it’s better to tell their parents. I’d want to know.”

It wasn’t until they were at the kids’ house and Cobb was explaining their misadventure to their parents — stern, but making it known that he’d dealt with them and no further punishment was necessary as long as they kept their noses clean — that he realised he had thought of himself as a parent without an immediate pang of pain. It came now, just delayed. He would have given anything to see an X-wing landing outside their house and Luke Skywalker getting out to say he’d brought Grogu home, expelled for flagrant misbehaviour. He would have scolded the kid and said how disappointed he was that he’d wasted his opportunity to learn from a real Jedi, and as soon as Skywalker was safely gone he’d have hugged the stuffing out of him and taken him inside for pancakes and all the eggs he could swallow. 

After that they headed out again, this time toward the current location of the Tusken camp. It moved around fairly widely, and he’d had to explain to Cobb that it was a deliberate seasonal migration carefully adapted over generations of experience to the breeding and raising of bantha, hunting desert fauna and gathering such tough and elusive flora as could be found in the Dune Sea, without depleting the population of any area too much and allowing it to recover as they moved on — not just “wandering.” If you knew the time of year and the local geography it wasn’t hard to predict where you’d find them. 

They stopped the speeders at a distance and approached the camp on foot. A few scouts came out at first and after a minute or two so did the chief, in no hurry but still interested to hear what they might say. Cobb was pretty proficient by now in polite greetings and general pleasantries — he’d been surprised to hear that Tuskens  _ did _ pleasantries, but quickly caught on to the general focus on the weather, the livestock and the children, in that order. He still tended to speak out loud while he signed, a habit Din was trying to get him to break because the grammar was so different and he tended to get his sentences all jumbled. After a cordial opening exchange, he turned to Din and said, “Can you interpret for the next bit? Not sure I have the vocabulary.”

“Sure,” said Din. He stepped forward and gestured to indicate that he was speaking for his partner. 

“We have a possibility to discuss with you,” said Cobb. “Now, there’s nothing definite yet, there’s just been a little talk, and you are our partners on this land, senior partners since your ancestors have been here so long, so we won’t decide anything without your approval.” He was being a bit more deferential than usual, Din thought. Interesting. 

The chief signed, “Like what?” and Din repeated it for Cobb. 

“I’m not sure how much you folks know about pod racing,” Cobb began. As Din translated, he was cut off by a chorus of growls, whoops and general hollering. One guy at the back just held up his gaffi stick with both hands and yelled at the sky. “Are those  _ happy _ sounds,” Cobb muttered to Din, “or did I just start a war?”

“They’re fans,” said Din. He’d expected this, but it amused him to surprise Cobb.

“Well, that’s just great! Something else we got in common.” Together they outlined the idea to hold pod racing events again, maybe just one meet to begin with, consulting with the tribe on an appropriate route. 

“Do you invite us to race too?” the chief asked.

“You want to? If you’ve got the pods, come one, come all,” said Cobb. This was received with enthusiasm and the guy at the back did a little dance. The chief signed again, briefly but emphatically.

“They want us to come back tomorrow,” said Din.

“They don’t have to answer that quick. If they want to take time to come up with a course, we’re in no hurry.”

“It’s not about the course. I’ll explain on the way home.” They took their leave politely and left the tribe excitedly discussing the possibility. A bunch of kids were swarming all over a beat-up speeder that would need a radical overhaul to be competitive, but clearly it was now the racer of their dreams. 

“So what’s tomorrow?” Cobb asked as they sped back over the dunes. 

“The Gift Day. It’s an annual festival. Very important for reinforcing relationships and loyalty.”

“Like Life Day? I don’t have anything for them but maybe I can come up with something — what kind of thing you reckon they’d like?”

“No, you musn’t give them anything. That would be a serious insult. Their custom is that gifts flow downward only, from people with more power and authority to their dependents. So chiefs give to their scouts. Parents and grandparents give to children and grandchildren. Older siblings give to younger siblings. To try to pass a gift  _ up _ the chain is an act of insubordination that could lead to bloodshed.”

“Wait a minute, do they want to give  _ me _ a gift? What does that say about me?”

“You did call them ‘senior partners,’” said Din. “They take that language seriously. It’s not that the chief has authority to give you orders, but if they think of you having a spot in the hierarchy below him, it makes you… not like family, but part of their world. Still other, but compatible. Up to now, they’ve had to continue to consider you an enemy, formally. It wouldn’t matter how well you really got along or how nice you were to to them, it’s the only category in their society that you would fit into, enemy. Accepting a gift from the chief makes you something closer to an ally. It doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed friends forever, but it means being at peace with you is normal.”

“They’re doing this just because I said ‘senior partners’?” Cobb asked. 

“They’ve been wanting to find a way to normalise things for a while now,” said Din. “Your timing was lucky. That and they’re very excited about the pod races.”

“No fooling,” said Cobb, with feeling.

“I don’t think they’ve ever been invited to participate before. Being savages, and all.”

Cobb shot him a sharp glance. “Now you know I don’t think that any more,” he said, “but am I gonna be sorry I invited them? Will they behave?”

“You can’t be too precious about behaviour at a pod racer meet, can you?”

“Will they behave  _ appropriately for a pod racer meet?” _

“Oh, I’d say so. They’ll even wait until after the races are over to get rip-roaring drunk.”

“Well, all right then.” Cobb thought about it a bit more, then said, “So this doesn’t quite make me an honorary Tusken raider, does it?”

“No. It’s nothing like an adoption or initiation. You know that’s not their own name for themselves, right?”

“It isn’t? Damn, I thought I was being polite not calling ‘em sand people any more. Is Tusken bad too?”

“It’s not  _ bad, _ it’s just a name given to them by your people after their raid on Fort Tusken.”

“So what do they call themselves? Or is it like a private name outsiders shouldn’t use either?”

“It’s not a secret. It just gets ignored. They’re the Water Tribe.”

_ “Water _ Tribe?”

“For what they treasure most.”

“Well,” said Cobb thoughtfully, “how about that.”

Cobb felt kind of nervy on the way back out to the camp the next day. It wasn’t like the excited, fluttery way he’d felt as a little kid on Life Day, back when his father had done his best to shield him from reality at least enough to give him some little treats. He’d begun to see through the shield early on but he’d loved him for trying. When he was older and saw more of how the rich lived and how they spoiled their kids, he wondered how people like that could possibly think Life Day was for _ them.  _ Of course, back then he hadn’t understood it was actually a Wookiee festival, so maybe it wasn’t for him either, but he still thought he deserved it more than they did. His nerves about the Gift Day were more along the lines of hoping the gift was going to be something he could look honestly happy to receive, and how badly it might screw up the budding normalisation, as Din put it, if his face did the wrong thing. He’d asked Din what  _ type _ of thing was given on the Gift Day but he was unhelpfully vague — it could be anything from handmade toys children made for their little brothers and sisters up to heirloom weapons that chiefs bestowed on their most trusted fighters. A weapon might be nice. He wondered if Boba had received any gifts like that while living with his tribe. Was he an ally? An honorary member? Somebody’s dependent? It was hard to imagine someone as dominant as Boba being comfortable with that, but he wouldn’t have had much choice when he was literally dependent on them for his life. 

Now here he was standing outside the camp with Din, who was just standing there looking shiny and cool and not giving him any hint of what to expect. The chief was making a speech about the significance of the Gift Day which Din was interpreting, but it was all  _ principles _ and no specifics. He suspected some of the kids he could see milling around in back of the chief were giggling, as well as he could tell from the way their heads bobbed and their shoulders shook. Well, maybe they were just happy, they had new toys, after all — kites were flying overhead, and lots of them had those little helicopter stick things that you spun between your hands. He needed to get over this idea that he was being set up somehow. 

Finally, the chief declared, “Enjoy this gift in the year to come,” and he signed back what Din had taught him, “I gratefully receive it.” Someone next to the chief stepped forward at his wave, carrying a sack which wriggled about like there was a live thing inside. Cobb received it with less gratitude then trepidation, but he opened it up and whatever was inside wriggled round and smacked him across the chin with something wet. No, it  _ licked _ him. Whining and struggling to lick him some more, in his hands was a scaly massif pup. He looked at it in astonishment, then exclaimed, “For real?” For a little monster, it was such a  _ cute _ little monster. It lunged and got its paws up on his chest and licked all over his chin and up to his nose, and he couldn’t help laughing. The tribe were definitely laughing now, but it felt like good-natured laughter sharing in his surprise and delight.

“Thank you!” he said. “Babe, can you sign this? I got my hands full here. Thank you very much, I’ll take good care of him. I never thought I’d have one of these. Used to be scared of ‘em! Hey, now now now, enough kisses, enough kisses. Don’t sign that, I’m talking to the puppy.”

“I got that,” said Din, and once again Cobb could hear the smile in his voice. 

When they got the pup home, Cobb realised he had no idea how to train one of these things. Well, food for rewards worked on most animals. If all else failed he’d just head back out to the camp and ask for advice. “He’s a cute little so and so, isn’t he?” he asked, holding the puppy up for Din to admire.

“She’s a girl, but yes.”

“No way, look at his little weenie,” Cobb said. 

“Their anatomy is a little different than you might be thinking. That’s definitely a girl massif.”

“Really? I apologise, miss, my mistake. Hey, how about we call you that? You want to be Missy?” She croaked and squirmed gleefully. “Meet Missy, Din. Missy, this is Din, you mind him, okay? But you mind me first. Did you know they were gonna give me one of their pups?” he asked Din.

“I thought they might. It’s the traditional gift to a new household. Every home needs at least one massif to protect it.”

“So it’s really a present for you and me together? Recognising us as a household?” That was so sweet of them, Cobb thought. 

“It could be. It’s also considered an appropriate gift for a child about ten years old, to teach them responsibility.”

“Well, I’m gonna assume it’s the first one, thank you.”

Missy chewed everything lower than the height of her head and piddled freely wherever she might be when the urge struck, so their first priorities in training her were to get her to chew only her own toys and to teach her to go to the back door if she needed to pee. They built her a little door and spent a lot of time luring her through it with snacks. 

Her favourite activities were fetching balls and sleeping on their bed in between them; she would waddle up to the foot of the bed, clamber up with much grunting and panting, then flop down between them and roll from side to side on her back with a tongue-dangling expression of blissful idiocy. They were initially a little concerned that they would need to lock her in the bathroom when they wanted to have sex, but it turned out that if they insisted on lying together and not leaving space for her in between, she would harrumph, jump heavily down from the bed and go off in a huff. Then she would attempt to punish them for not loving her the most by piddling directly in the middle of the kitchen floor which, while offensive, was easily mopped up. They chose to ignore it other than that, and in any case she quickly forgot she was mad. Curiously, she never pooped in the house but once, and evidently suffered agonies of shame. 

She learned to ride in a saddlebag attached to a speeder bike without trying to jump down while travelling at speed (after one incident which she luckily survived, though it took years off Din’s life when he saw her hop out), she learned to sit, and one day she might learn to stay. She generally made herself an indispensable part of the family while doing absolutely nothing helpful and being quite a lot of extra work. 

They got so engrossed in taking care of her that, for a while at least, Din’s sorrows and the feeling of unresolved anxiety and suspense concerning the Darksaber receded into the background a bit. He got into the habit of visiting Boba once or twice a week to train together and just generally be friends. 

“Being friends” with Boba was a bit of a challenge to define at first. He’d made his continued interest in sex with them plain with the courier delivery of a gift, the promised set of training plugs in a smart black box. Din’s response to them could be summarised as first mortified, then curious. He hadn’t actually tried to use them yet. The smallest one wasn’t intimidating, and he could imagine the next one up going in comfortably with gentle encouragement, but the others were… daunting. When Din first visited him by himself, Boba unsurprisingly asked if he’d been enjoying the gift. 

“I’m not quite ready for that,” he said honestly. 

“Oh,” said Boba. He didn’t sound too happy about it. “Looks like I overreached a bit.”

“This isn’t a good place to talk about it,” Din said, glancing around the throne room. It was empty as always. He wondered if that was because Boba simply didn’t conduct business in there, keeping it more like a private study, or if he told everyone to clear out when he was expecting Din. Whatever the case, he kept it cleaner than Jabba ever had. 

“Do you want to come up to my room, then?” Boba asked. He snorted. “I sound like a kid,” he said. 

“Okay,” Din said quietly. 

“Oh.” Boba sounded a bit happier about that. He led the way upstairs and showed Din in. Din looked around the room, seeing that the big picture window was uncurtained, and turned back to see Boba removing his helmet. Did he expect the same from Din? Probably. There was no good reason not to. He could have said “No, I won’t show you my face again” if Boba had treated him poorly but there was nothing like that he could point to. He was just shy, still. He held up one finger in a “wait a moment” gesture he’d picked up from Cobb and went over to the window, pulling the drapes together until just a narrow gap was left to admit light. With the room dim and shadowy, he felt more confident about turning around and lifting off his helmet. Boba was still over near the door, watching him closely. 

“Cut your hair,” he observed.

“Yeah, I took off a little more than I meant. Not used to those clippers.” He scruffed his fingers through it, breaking it up from its pressed-down helmet state. 

“You still look good,” Boba said. “Not a criticism.” He walked over and put his helmet down on the seat of the couch that faced the window, next to the yellow stripe of sunlight from between the curtains. “But I did overreach, didn’t I?”

“It’s just… we jumped ahead a long way in one night.”

“But you do that. At least you did with Cobb.”

“That’s true but it doesn’t mean that’s normal for me. I don’t yet know what’s normal for me.”

Boba glanced away and sighed. “I want you to be comfortable with me,” he said. “And you said you were that night, but you plainly weren’t in the morning.”

“No, but… well. I want to be comfortable with you too. I like you. I’m just very… very awkward when I like someone.” He shrugged. “That does appear to be normal. It’s odd, isn’t it? How as children it’s easy to say ‘Let’s be friends’ but as adults it sounds strange?”

“You want to just be friends?”

“Not just. I — I want more of the way you made me feel then.” His face was far too hot, and he was holding his helmet in both hands up by his chest as if he was going to throw it and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Would it help you get through the awkward,” Boba said slowly, “if I told you what to do and you just did it?”

“Uhh…”

“But if you find you really don’t want to do it, you can just tell me no. Won’t bother me. We’ll talk about it again. Want to try it?”

Din wet his lips, which felt too dry. “Okay.”

“Good. Then put your helmet down next to mine. That’s better.” Din did feel some relief at having it out of his hands. He looked to Boba for the next instruction. “Now come over here, to me.”

Din walked over, just a few steps, stopping a few inches from him. 

“Good boy,” Boba said quietly, and he’d breathed in sharply before he could stop himself. “Come closer.” He shuffled in until the breastplates of their armour touched and stood there, breathing fast and light while Boba looked up at him, just a trace of a smile on his lips but satisfaction shining in his eyes. “Give us a kiss.” 

Din kissed him heavily and clumsily, diving into it before pulling back with a shuddering breath. 

“Good,” Boba said, still quietly. “I’ve been wanting that.” His hands were down at his sides, not trying to touch or hold Din, but he was holding him with his eyes, bright and sharp. 

“Cobb and I talked about this,” Din said.

“Did he give you his blessing?” 

“Some. We just… kissing is okay. He said if I did, to give you one from him.”

“And you did.”

“So…” He kissed him again, a little more calmly. This time he heard and  _ felt  _ a low, almost rumbling “mmm” from Boba that hotwired him again and made him hard all in a rush.  _ Oh, no no no no, I need to keep calm. I’m not drunk, I’m not new to this, it’s midmorning, there is no reason to feel like this. _

Boba chuckled. “You’re cute with your little kisses. What else is okay? Did he give you a list? Was it stuff he  _ wants _ to know you did with me?” 

Din breathed out slowly. “Kissing. General fooling around. We decided, uh, anything with hands or mouths is in bounds.”

“So not to be crude, but I can eat your ass, I just can’t fuck it?”

“That’s the crude version, yeah.”

“Good. Okay. Then we know where we stand, don’t we?” Boba gave him a friendly little pat on the arm and stepped back. “Shall we head to the practice hall, then? You’re warmed up now.”

“What?” He gave a disbelieving laugh. 

“Would I be helping you if we didn’t spar?”

“I — I guess not.”

“Get your helmet on then, kid.”

So first he was subjected to a rigorous training fight, then sloppy mutual blowjobs sweaty and half-undressed on the bathroom floor, then a rough scrub in the shower that made his skin sting, tingle and glow, then a hot damp tumble in bed that ended with Boba coming between his thighs before briskly tugging him off. He dozed off for a while before waking up to Boba shaking his shoulder. 

“Do you want to stay all night?” Boba asked. “You’re welcome to, but you should decide now before it gets late.”

“I… no, I should get home. It was good, though. It was  _ really _ good.”

He went home feeling mixed up and flustered, and a little ashamed when Missy ran out the back door to meet him, smelled Strange Man on him and sneezed and looked upset. Cobb met him with a hug and a kiss, though, and in bed that night took a curious look at his love-bites before overwriting them with new ones, sucking him hard and riding him to exhausted satisfaction, then cuddling him to sleep.

The second time had all been different, they had still fought but then ended up having a long heartfelt talk about feeling Mandalorian but not, which had ranged across culture, politics and spirituality before he realised it was getting late. The third time they got distracted inspecting a pod racer that Boba was looking at sponsoring. Din wasn’t as interested in them as Cobb and Boba both were but he enjoyed seeing him enthusiastic. The fourth time he had arrived in a horny mood, primarily because Cobb had got all frisky and handsy with him just before he was due to leave, swatted him on the butt and said, “There, go give Boba some of that,” which was extremely generous of him, so he suggested a private talk in Boba’s room at the earliest opportunity and did his best to emulate that generosity. When they were catching their breath afterwards, Boba said, “I’ve never had any friends quite like you, you know.”

“Mandalorian?”

“Well, that, but everything else.” He waved a hand vaguely, lifting it just off the bed before letting it fall. Din was enjoying how heavy, limp and relaxed his whole body felt; that drop of the hand suggested Boba was feeling the same way and he liked knowing that, as they lay on their backs side by side. 

“All the sex?”

“Everything else.”

“Training together?”

“I think I just mean a normal friend. I mean, yes, we’re allies, I’m helping you, it’s not like you don’t get anything practical out of it, and we’re fuckbuddies, but also you’re someone I can just talk to. Someone who’ll take an interest in what interests me. Just because you like me. I know that sounds sappy,” he added quickly.

“It does,” Din said, “but I like hearing it.” He paused. “You haven’t asked me to do any jobs for you yet. You can get something practical out of it too. I’d like to be of some help to you.”

“At the moment Rima’s taking care of all those odd jobs. I’m proud of that girl. She’s started using my name, did you know that? Rima Fett. Never thought I’d hear that. And it seems a bit dishonest when I’m not her actual father, but on the other hand, you can definitely say she’s a granddaughter of Jango Fett, so she comes by it honestly that way.” Boba fell quiet, gazing up at the ceiling. He’d had it whitewashed but here and there you could still see bits of the original décor, colourful and unbelievably tacky paintings of chubby baby Hutts frolicking among flowers definitely not native to Tatooine, peeking through. “I wish I could show her to Dad,” he said after a while. “Sometimes I wish I believed there’s an afterlife, because then I could think he’s watching and he’s proud. Then again, that’d mean he had to watch all the bullshit I went through without him, and he couldn’t help me, and I wouldn’t wish that on any parent. That’d be a real hell. But yeah. I wish he could see Rima Fett.”

“I don’t believe in it either,” said Din, “but I think Cobb does. He says he doesn’t believe in the Force either, but he believes there’s  _ something. _ Maybe he’s right. It would be nice.” He thought about it a bit. “On the other hand, I don’t hope your dad is watching us right now.”

Boba started to laugh, his chest shaking. “Or twenty minutes ago, eh?”

“He doesn’t need to see that,” Din said, laughing too. 

“He really doesn’t.” Boba rolled towards him and kissed him, and he felt a little flicker of love, not as strong and sweet and all-encompassing as what he felt for Cobb, but it definitely was love and not just liking. He wrapped his arms around him and stroked his back, feeling the pattern of his scars, and enjoyed the wet suck and swirl of the kiss. When their lips parted, Boba’s forehead rested against his, breathing slowly and deeply. “You’ll be going home soon, won’t you?”

“Uh-huh. To get back before dark.”

“Okay. I won’t start anything. But I want to ask you again, have you tried out the gift I got you?”

“I… tried the smallest one the other day.”

“Good boy. How’d it feel?”

“Fuller than I thought. And heavier. I could always feel it sitting on my ring. I tried sliding it in and out a few times, thinking that’d get things relaxed enough that I wouldn’t notice it so much. It just got me hard with a tingly butt.”

Boba gave a little snort of laughter. “I bet it did. Did Cobb help you with that?”

“I was a little embarrassed to show him the problem I was having, but he was kind about it. He played with it some more and sucked me off before he took it out.”

“Did he fuck you?”

“Not that time. He’s done it since we were with you, but just using his mouth and his fingers to open me up.”

“You like getting your ass eaten now?”

“I really love it. Well, you know that, you do it to me too. It feels different from him because of his beard, but it’s good both ways.” 

“And you do it to him?”

“Of course I do, he loves it too. It makes us both think about you, since you got us into it.”

“You tell Cobb from me, I’d like to see him again soon. Both of you together.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t want to say yes, Daddy?”

“Not yet. Sometime.”

“I can wait. But next time you come and see me, I’d really like you to be wearing a plug. The little one, or maybe the next one up if it’s comfortable. I’m not expecting to fuck you, but I’ll play with your ass till you come. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try. Do I just put it in when I get here, or wear it from home?”

“Wear it for as long as you can stand it. Do some trial runs at home and see what feels good.”

“What if we get sidetracked looking at a pod racer or something?”

“You think anything can sidetrack me when I know your asshole’s throbbing, in need of my attention?”

“Good point. I’ll try to do it.” He wasn’t sure he’d be having the right kind of day to  _ want _ to do it when the day came, but he liked the idea right now. 

“Good boy,” Boba murmured, kissing him again. “That’s all I ask, that you try.” 

He returned to the  _ Mudhorn  _ and started the flight back home, feeling pleasantly tired — no, not tired exactly, he still had plenty of energy, just very physically contented and comfortable. The hot shower had contributed to that; plentiful hot water was a definite perk of visiting Boba. He had to concentrate not to go into a kind of drowsy trance at the windscreen view of endlessly undulating sand dunes rolling under the ship. He turned on the radio and listened to music until, inevitably, the Max Rebo Band came on, because a day could not go by on Tatooine without someone playing “That Joyous Night (I Ate My Mate)” on the radio. He didn’t need that stuck in his head, so he spun the dial and found a news broadcast. He had never been one to follow current events, because they seemed so irrelevant to his life, but it beat the hell out of “I Ate My Mate” so he listened. 

It seemed the leader of the New Republic had made a big speech about the continuing risk of a resurgence from Imperial remnants, supported by people who had felt more secure under the authoritarian regime, and a lot of people in politics were very upset about that because it was negative and defeatist and they wanted to move on. The thing was, she was right and he’d heard it from an Imp’s own mouth, just before Mayfeld shot him. He didn’t understand politics but he would presumably have to support General Organa if she was right about things like that. The awful thought occurred to him that if he remained stuck with the Darksaber much longer people might start expecting him to  _ do _ politics. Would a Duke have to turn up to the Senate? Apparently there was a galactic Senate that General Organa had made her speech to. Presumably Bo-Katan  _ wanted _ to go to things like that. He was happy to let her, if she’d ever get back to him about their duel. He wondered whether she would support General Organa too, given that she had the same kind of first-hand knowledge he did, or whether they’d butt heads just because Bo-Katan was that sort of person (and it sounded like General Organa was a firecracker too, from the bit of her speech they played on the radio). 

After that story they went on to talk about trade and taxation and embargoes and stuff that made his eyes glaze over, so he switched back to the music station which fortunately had finished “I Ate My Mate” and gone on to some high desert folk music that he liked a lot better. This was the kind of tune Cobb liked and sang to him sometimes when he was feeling low, about a quietly enduring love and the sacrifices it required, gladly given. Not long till he’d be home with him again.

The song cut out as a comms message came in. Speak of the devil, it was Cobb. “Hi, babe,” Din said. “I’m nearly home.”

“Good,” said Cobb. “You might want to hurry, because we’ve got company. A lot of company.”

“How do you mean?” Din asked. Cobb sounded tense and urgent. He mentally ran through the ship’s weapon systems, never yet used. 

“Oh, Bo-Katan’s here, and she brought Mandalore with her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I think I forgot to mention: Rima, who I introduced in the previous chapter, is based purely on my crush on Frankie Adams who plays Bobbie Draper in _The Expanse._ It occurred to me that Bobbie and Boba are both played by a New Zealand actor whose first big TV role was on the soap opera _Shortland Street_ (he was Dr Hone Ropata, she was Ula Levi), both delight me by speaking with a flat Kiwi accent in a big shiny American space epic, both kick large amounts of ass in a special suit of armour, and both have a name beginning with "Bob." So I cast her as his long-lost daughter.   
> Furthermore, although it doesn't mean this in the story, her name is the Māori word for the number five, as a little tribute to one of my favourite clones, Fives.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mandalore comes to Mos Pelgo and Din has a hell of a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit unsure about this chapter, not in the sense of "I don't think it's any good" because I enjoyed writing it so there's sure to be someone who enjoys reading it, but in the sense that I spent too long on it because I couldn't see a good stopping point and can't really see the forest for the trees when I reread it. I hope I'm right to think that it's pretty coherent.   
> Big Necessary Disclaimer: I don't know that much about Mandalorians and their culture. I know what I've absorbed from watching _The Mandalorian, The Clone Wars_ and _Rebels,_ and bits and pieces I've picked up from fandom on Tumblr. I haven't read any books about them and I don't know shit about the language except it has oodles of apostrophes. There are times when doing a deep dive into research for fictional cultural authenticity would be really interesting and satisfying, but there's this rather worrying and tiresome pandemic on and my mental faculties are stretched thin in some areas, so that making stuff up is satisfying and comforting, but trying to do research and make sure I meet other people's expectations and standards is stressful and blah. I hope this puts my approach to the Mandalorians in this chapter (ie make stuff up that I personally find plausible based on what I can remember from watching shows) in context and prevents it being too terribly annoying to people who are much better informed about them than I am. I wouldn't do this to write about a culture of real people in the real world who can have their feelings hurt and experience disadvantages because of misinformation about them, but yeah, the Mandalorians are completely made up to begin with and they won't be harmed by my nonsense. I still always feel like I'm probably misunderstanding how things work and either mischaracterising the antagonistic characters' motives (I tend to default to "everyone is just trying their best but their priorities and understanding of what events mean can clash terribly") or going too easy on someone who's actually a nasty piece of work. I'm telling myself to just go ahead anyway or I won't do anything.  
> This chapter also reflects my belief that Din Djarin has absolutely had concussion a number of times and it's only thanks to luck and the demands of the narrative that he hasn't sustained quite debilitating brain damage. He's still getting off mildly here but I wanted to at least acknowledge that that many hard hits to the head, even if you do wear a very fancy helmet, are going to have more of an effect on you than just brief unconsciousness. His experience is based on my own of a milder concussion than he probably has here and may or may not ring true to people with more experience.

At first glance it looked like Mos Pelgo was besieged by a very eclectic army. A motley array of smaller ships had landed on the sands beyond the outskirts of town, and the cruiser Bo-Katan had taken from Moff Gideon hung mistily in the sky in low orbit. Moving around on the ground between the smaller ships were more Mandalorians than Din had ever seen together in his life. His mouth fell open and he stared, unable to take in that there were really this many. Big serious Mandalorians in brown and grey and unadorned durasteel and beskar, flashy Mandalorians in brightly enamelled armour, scruffy Mandalorians, sleek Mandalorians, and even some children scampering around. He felt a simultaneous strong urge to be with them and a cringing dread that they’d reject him, especially if they knew how he’d been living for the past few months. As he flew over he caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of red. Cobb was among them in his armour, helmet off and carried by his hip, Missy waddling at his side. Din dearly hoped he knew what he was doing. He flew over the Mandalorian camp, since that was clearly what it was, and landed in his usual spot out behind their house. He had to sit there for several minutes making himself breathe normally and reminding himself that he always knew he would have to deal with this sooner or later, and it was actually a good thing that it had finally happened so they could get things settled, while undoing all the good of the hot shower with a cold sweat. It was one thing to calmly go into a fight where he could easily die but another, he found, to walk into a camp full of people like him but that he now knew were not all like him and try to be one of them again. He was frankly scared. 

_ Once this is done, _ he reminded himself,  _ I’ll be free. No obligation to anyone. I can do whatever I choose to do with the rest of my life. I’ll track down Skywalker. I’ll make absolutely sure Grogu is okay with him. I’ll live with Cobb and Missy and I’ll visit with Boba and I’ll never see another Mandalorian again unless I go looking for them. And I might go looking for them, because I’d like to know some more now that I know how many more there are to know, but not all of them at once! No. Once this is done, I’ll be free, and that’s what I need to think about right now.  _

Cobb had never seen so many  _ helmets _ in his life. Everyone here was armed to the teeth and they were all milling round chatting like it was a family reunion or a music festival. Some people had even pitched tents. There were little kids in little kid helmets that were the cutest damn things he’d ever seen. He’d expected Din to get called out to face Bo-Katan somewhere, not for hundreds of Mandalorians to descend on his town for the occasion. If he yelled out “Hey Mando!” right now how many people would turn round?

They’d begun arriving just before midday. The first ship had just been a big surprise. It was a family, a grandma, parents and four kids of varying size. They’d landed, got out and started putting up a tent like it was no big deal. He’d suited up, of course, and gone out to meet them, wondering what in blue blazes was going on and why he’d never had Din teach him any of their lingo. Of course they’d speak Basic, but it might have made a good impression. He pulled up on his speeder and they all turned to look at him, a matching set of blank masks. Of course, he’d look much the same to them in his helmet, and he wasn’t about to take it off and leave his head unprotected before knowing more about their intentions.

“Howdy, folks,” he began, because apparently he was a hick when he was nervous, “welcome to Mos Pelgo. I’m the marshal here, Cobb Vanth. We don’t get a whole lot of visitors from out of town. Can I ask what brings you here today?”

“We came to see the heiress duel the Mand’alor for the Darksaber,” said an adult who, from her voice, was probably an elderly woman. 

“It’s important for the kids,” said another adult, sounding like a younger woman and squeezing the shoulder of a child who was leaning against her. “This is their heritage.”

“The Mand’alor?” Cobb repeated. He could figure out who the heiress must be but what made a Mando  _ the? _ “You mean Din Djarin?”

“I think that’s his name,” said the third adult, whose voice he couldn’t peg as definitely male or female. “People have been calling him Mandalore the Reluctant or Mandalore the Unready. Do we have the right place? He lives here, right?”

“Well yes, yes he does, but he’s not here right now. He’s out of town visiting a friend.”  _ And probably still in bed with him, the mood I sent him off in. What a day to decide to give him some fun.  _ “I’m expecting him back by the end of the day. He’s my partner.”

“Is that a puppy?” said one of the kids. Missy was trying to climb out of her saddlebag, grunting. She fell out on the sand on her head, did a somersault and sat up, looking proud of herself.

“Yep.”

“Can we pet him?”

“Wait, we’re talking to the marshal,” said the kids’ mother. “You’re not Mandalorian yourself.” She said it as a flat statement that they both knew to be true but that needed to be acknowledged.

“Correct, ma’am.” He wondered whether they were more the strict type of Mando that Din was (had been) or more towards the loosey-goosey Sabine Wren end of the spectrum.

“So you work together.” Ah, more strict. Wouldn’t consider an intimate relationship with an outsider possible.

“We do,” he said, because it was true as far as it went and he didn’t feel like getting further into it with these people. “He’s my deputy.”

“The Mand’alor is  _ your  _ deputy?” said the other parent. Maybe not so much strict as just snobs.

“He’s just a person here,” said Cobb. “I’m the one who tells folks what to do. And so I have to tell you, you’re welcome to camp here as long as you conduct yourselves peaceably and clean up before you leave. If you want to come into town, no jetpacks, grenades, rocket launchers or whistling birds, disconnect all flamethrowers. If other Mandos show up and you get to fightin’, which I know you may do just on a friendly basis, keep it away from town and away from the Tusken camp, which is currently about ten klicks thataway.” He pointed. “Do  _ not _ disturb them, we’ve got a truce that I want to preserve. Any questions?”

“Can we pet your puppy,  _ please?” _ another kid asked. Well, at least they taught their kids nice manners. 

“Yeah, sure.” He crouched down beside Missy to show them. “Now, let her see your hands and smell ‘em first, okay? Then pat her on the body, don’t go over her head, that’ll spook her. That’s right. That’s great, you see how happy she is?” Missy couldn’t believe her luck at getting petted from four directions at once; she was turning round and round on the spot panting through an open-mouthed grin. The littler kids were giggling with delight.

“Here to see history made and they’re all excited to pet a massif,” the mother said wryly.

“Ah,” said the other parent, “here come the others.”

Cobb looked up and saw three more ships descending. And that was only the early birds.

By mid-afternoon the campsite had grown out of recognition, the cruiser had heaved into view far above (it was a damn good thing he’d heard the whole story of it from Din and could reassure his people they were  _ not _ under Imperial attack), and a mini-convoy of speeder trucks had set out from Mos Pelgo to the nearest large town to bring back extra food, drink and possibly souvenirs to sell to the visitors. Cobb was back and forth between town and campsite like his tail was on fire, and had also made a high-speed run out to the Water Tribe’s camp to let them know the arrivals were a) under control and b) nothing to do with  _ him  _ or his town. They seemed nonplussed; they weren’t afraid of Mandalorians and obviously they weren’t from Mos Pelgo. His signing wasn’t sophisticated enough to get into the details, so he simply reiterated that the situation was under control, he just wanted to keep them informed, and he had to get back now. 

When he got back he decided to take his helmet off both because no one seemed likely to take a shot at him — they all seemed to be in a pretty jolly mood — and because he was steaming in it. It had a tiny cooling fan inside which he appreciated (Boba’s helmet had that too, although it had only worked intermittently for him), but it wasn’t enough today. He took a guess that Din had probably left Boba’s place now, so there was some point in trying to get through to him, and made the call. He sounded in good spirits when he answered, and hearing his voice immediately shift serious when he heard Cobb needed him was wonderfully reassuring. It felt like a long time, and the suns were getting low, before he saw the  _ Mudhorn _ passing overhead. He’d expected Din would put down near the camp, but he flew on to the usual spot behind their house. Then there was a surprisingly long delay with no appearance from Din. Was he getting something ready back at the house? Doing some rite of preparation the situation called for? Had he got waylaid by someone in town needing help or advice or just a spare pair of hands? 

But then the chatter all around him dropped into a hush, quiet spreading through the crowd like ripples from a stone dropped in water, and he turned toward where the “stone” must have fallen, and was reminded that, whether he planned it or not, Din tended to make one hell of an entrance. He had dismounted from his speeder bike a short distance off and was walking towards the Mando camp in a measured, easy stride, his arms swinging at his sides. The suns were sinking in a blazing sky behind him and edged the polished beskar of his armour and the spear slung on his back with red and gold. A breeze even lifted and fluttered his cape a bit. It wouldn’t have seemed strange if there was music, something low-pitched and maybe a little brassy. 

Cobb repressed the urge to shout “HOT DAMN THAT’S MY MAN,” whistled to Missy who was cavorting with two little kids, and hurried to meet him. 

He reached Din a little before he reached the edge of the camp. “Darlin’, I could not be more glad to see you,” he said quietly, turning and falling into step beside him. 

“Have you seen Bo-Katan?” Din asked. Of course, Cobb hadn’t met her before but he thought he would recognise her from Din’s description — blue and silver armour with an owl design on the helmet visor, and under that a stern pale face and bobbed red hair.

“Not so far,” he said. “The chatter is she’s still up on the cruiser. Maybe she’s waiting for everyone to get here before she makes her appearance. She’d be hard put to make a better entrance than you just did.”

Missy waddled up to them, reared up to put her front paws on Din’s legs, and whined to be picked up and loved. He stopped to scoop her up, and she wriggled ecstatically and licked all over the front of his helmet, which may have damaged the incredibly cool impression he had just made, or may simply have made him look kind and lovable as well as a big shiny stud. They reached the edge of the camp, where the crowd of Mandalorians was drawing together, the ones farther back craning over the shoulders of the ones in front. He handed Missy off to Cobb, discreetly wiped the massif slobber off his visor while he was turned away doing that, then faced the crowd, drew the Darksaber from his belt, held it over his head and activated the blade. There was an audible mass intake of breath. 

“I’ve come to face the one who challenges me for this blade,” he said. “I won it fair and square in single combat. I give her the chance to do the same. This is the way.” 

Everyone had breathed in at the sight of the dark blade, but only some members of the crowd repeated “This is the way” in response. Heads turned to look up at the cruiser, as if Bo-Katan would just descend from on high. Then Cobb realised he could see three pale dots below the cruiser, and they were getting larger. They grew larger and closer and he saw they were three armoured figures with jetpacks, currently in free-fall, like divers, heads down and arms and legs straight behind them.  _ Is there anyone more dramatic than Mandalorians?  _ he wondered. They glistened blue and silver. They fell like stones until it seemed certain they would crash to the ground, then at the last possible moment ignited their jetpacks and turned their fall into a swoop, like the letter J, rising up high above the crowd again before descending, upright now, in a triangle, the Mandalorian at the central point touching lightly down in front of Din. Her two companions landed behind her to left and to right, and removed their helmets, revealing a woman and a man, both dark-haired. Then — there was  _ no one _ more dramatic than Mandalorians — the leader lifted off her helmet and shook out her red hair, catching the light of the setting suns. She stood with her head high and her chin up, looking at Din with a very faint trace of a smile at the corners of her mouth. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. 

Din had lowered the Darksaber while she was descending. For now he held it by his side, humming ominously. “Are you ready at last?” he asked. 

“We’re a scattered people,” she said. “It took some time to gather the witnesses. I’m more than ready.” 

“Then I have a gift for you,” said Din. He reached behind him with his free hand and drew the spear from his back, spun it around with a flourish and offered it to her, holding it horizontally. “This is beskar. With it I won the Darksaber. You should be afforded the same chance I had.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes had widened a little. She seemed reluctantly impressed. “What will you do when I have taken your spear  _ and _ the Darksaber?” she asked. 

“I don’t make plans like that,” said Din. 

She raised both hands slowly and accepted the spear, holding it with some reverence. “You give me this gift in fairness,” she said. “You increase the risk to yourself. It’s honourable, but reckless. In fairness, when I have won the Darksaber I will return your spear to you.”

“If,” said Din.

“If,” she said, politely. “Also in fairness, because you didn’t know the day when I would come, I’ll allow you time to rest and prepare. Face me at high noon tomorrow. Then we’ll see.”

Din nodded. “Then we’ll see. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” she repeated, and there was that little trace of a smile again. Cobb wasn’t sure he liked it. Of course there was an element of trash-talking to a confrontation like this. She might be trying to psych Din out. Or maybe he was being too suspicious and the smile wasn’t mocking, she was just pleased to finally get the show on the road. She turned around crisply and walked into the crowd, her two followers preceding her now, the onlookers parting to let them pass. Din shut off the Darksaber and hooked it on his belt again. He resettled his weight on both feet and Cobb heard him inhale, low and slow, then let it go. He turned and walked away, back toward his speeder. 

Surprised, Cobb turned and followed him, carrying Missy. “We’re not staying?” he asked quietly.

“They’re her witnesses. Her people,” said Din.

“No they’re not,” said Cobb. “I mean, they’re your people too. I’ve been here off and on talking to folks all afternoon. It’s true some of ‘em are all in for Bo-Katan. Seems her elder sister was the last duchess, and she was murdered after she spent a long time trying to keep Mandalore out of the Clone Wars. She was a pacifist, if you can picture a pacifist Mandalorian. Believed self-defence was okay but you should never go looking for a fight. So anyway, they want to see Bo-Katan restore Mandalore in her memory.”

“As a pacifist?” Din asked, sounding puzzled.

“No, they’re pretty sure that part was a huge mistake,” said Cobb. “But she was a good leader in other ways and a lot of them still respected her for having the courage of her convictions. She wasn’t a pacifist because she was a coward, she just believed it was right. You can imagine the sisters didn’t see eye to eye on much. In fact, another bit of gossip I got, Bo-Katan used to be in this hardcore group called the Death Watch and they used to raise hell. Real terrorists. She had a change of heart later. But I’m getting away from the point, which is I also talked to a lot of people who want to see  _ you _ win. Bo-Katan had the Darksaber and lost it once already, they don’t think she should get it back. Some say her family is cursed and can only make things worse. Part of the late duchess’ pacifism was dividing Mandalorian society and exiling the warrior caste, so there’s still a lot of hard feelings about that. Others just don’t trust her because of her past, can’t believe she really changed. On the other hand her ruthless past is why some respect her. Some want a new guy in charge, fresh blood. You’re kind of an unknown quantity so I guess they’re projecting some hopes and dreams on you.” He decided not to tell Din about the people calling him The Unready and things like that. “And a bunch more are just undecided. They’ll follow whoever wins, whoever’s the bigger badass. So if you’re thinking you can’t go in there because they’re all against you already, I’m telling you they’re not.”

“Thank you,” Din said quietly. “But now I walked away I can’t just turn round and go right back.”

“Right. Don’t want to look wishy-washy. Especially after the impression you just made, my stars, I don’t think anyone’s gonna forget that.”

“Really? I just walked up. She had all that swooping.”

“You walked up looking spectacular. The little hairs on my neck stood up. By comparison she was trying way too hard.”

“She’s got a lot to prove,” said Din. “And I don’t really care. I mean, I care about doing this right, but all I want in my heart is to have it over and get back to my life.”

Cobb strongly doubted the “don’t really care.” He couldn’t believe Din didn’t even want to be among other Mandalorians. His identity and his creed were too important to him for that. It didn’t seem like the time to call him on it, though. In the gathering dusk more ships were arriving and touching down. He glanced back and saw bonfires were being lit. It looked festive. He turned his face forward again and said, “Well, I’m with you all the way, partner.”

“I know,” Din said simply. It was a nice little moment, and they walked along with it until a speeder came humming out of the dusk, swerved around and slammed to a stop in front of them. Fennec Shand was in the driver’s seat, Rima Fett was the passenger, and Boba was rising to his feet in the back.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” he demanded. 

“Bo-Katan’s flying circus is in town,” said Cobb, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. “She finally turned up for their big fight.”

“I can see that, scarecrow,” said Boba. “I mean why didn’t you call me?”

“I — I didn’t think of it yet,” said Din. 

“Unacceptable,” said Boba. “If you’re in trouble, you  _ call me, _ understand?”

“How’d you find out about it?” Cobb asked.

Boba made an irritated tongue-clicking noise and jabbed his forefinger upward at the cruiser still looming in the sky.

“We got reports of sightings and checked them out,” said Fennec. “Is that a puppy or did you adopt another kid?”

“Her name’s Missy,” said Cobb, “and yeah, she’s a puppy.”

“Ooh, a puppy,” said Rima, leaning across Fennec for a better look.

“Never mind the puppy,” said Boba. “We need to talk strategy.”

“I gave her the spear like we talked about,” said Din, while Cobb leaned in to give Rima a better look at Missy, because nobody got to say “never mind” about his puppy. 

“Cuuuute,” said Rima, scratching under Missy’s chin, while Fennec tipped her head back to stay out of licking range. 

“That’s a good start,” said Boba. “But why haven’t you fought yet? I’m glad I didn’t miss it but I would’ve thought you’d get right to it.”

“She wants to do it at high noon tomorrow,” Din explained.

“She’s got a flair for the dramatic,” said Cobb. “But so’s Din. You missed a great entrance.”

“That’s all right, I’ve seen him do an entrance,” said Boba. 

“That’s enough dog in my face, thank you,” said Fennec, so Cobb took Missy back because she’d been polite about it. 

“Instead of sitting out here while it gets dark,” he said, “why don’t you all come back to our place, and I’ll fix dinner?”

“Is there any such place as a bar in your town?” Fennec asked.

“Cantina’s right on the main drag, you can’t miss it.”

“Then I won’t,” she said with a little smile.

“I’ll come with you,” said Rima.

“Fine choice, I’m sure the booze there will hardly make you go blind at all,” said Boba.

“That’s a risk I am prepared to take,” said Fennec, swinging the speeder around and heading into town, shortly followed by Din and Cobb, having retrieved their respective speeders. She parked in front of Cobb’s house and the two women went off down the street while the three men and Missy went inside. 

“Welcome to the homestead,” said Cobb, holding the door open with his back and setting down Missy carefully, because otherwise she would try to jump from his arms and she absolutely would land on her head. “Now, it’s nothing fancy but it’s comfortable.”

“That’s what I’d expect from you,” said Boba. “Sorry to show up unannounced but, as I mentioned, you should’ve called me.” He went into the living room and looked around before sitting down on the couch with his arms spread out expansively across the back of it and his legs crossed with one ankle on the opposite knee. “Not a bad little place at all.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but I only found out about all this a short time before I got home, and all I could focus on was what I was going to do next,” Din said. He lifted off his helmet and set it in what had become its habitual place, on the dresser in the hallway. Cobb set his beside it and took off his cuirass and vambraces while he was at it. 

“Ah, so it’s helmets off in the house here?” Boba asked.

“When there’s nobody here but us,” said Cobb, going into the kitchen to see what he had that could feed five people. He looked back over his shoulder to see Boba was taking off his helmet and putting it on the coffee table; Din sat down beside him with a weary flop and rubbed one hand over his face. 

“If you don’t call on me when something big happens,” Boba said, nudging Din’s knee, “I’ll start to think you’re just using me for my body.” Din gave a little snort and smiled. “After all that slop I said about being friends,” Boba went on, “I expect a bit more.”

“If we’re lucky, this will be the only time it’s an issue,” said Din. 

“Ha!” said Cobb into the icebox.

“What?” said Din. 

“Babe, anyone who knows you knows you get into more shit — well, big things happen to you, let’s put it that way.” He looked up and said, “Everyone okay with soup from a can and biscuits? That’s about the best I can do.”

“The store was still open when we drove past,” Din said. “I can go get something.”

“Biscuits and soup is fine. None of us are precious about our food,” said Boba. “I want both of you to tell me everything that’s happened.”

“Can I ask you one thing first?” Cobb asked, gathering up his ingredients. “Did you ask Fennec and Rima to leave us alone together?”

“No. They… know I look forward to seeing you,” said Boba. “I suppose they think it’s a little treat for me.”

“You just saw me today,” said Din.

“I didn’t see Cobb. Don’t you know you’re welcome to come along with Din?”

“Well, it’s easier for Din to leave town for a bit than it is for me, and you were helping him prepare for all this,” he waved his hand generally in the direction of outside, “and I guess I thought  _ I _ was giving you a little treat, letting you enjoy him all to yourself, like I get him all to myself most of the time.”

“Well, that’s beside the point right now. Tell me everything that’s happened here.”

So Cobb told him his side of the story from the kitchen while he mixed up biscuit dough, cut them out and put them in the oven, and Din chipped in his part of things at appropriate moments, though in Cobb’s opinion he undersold himself a lot.

“So in short you’ve been doing crowd control and intelligence gathering,” Boba said when they’d got to the point where he showed up. “Sounds like you’ve done useful work, marshal. I’m surprised they told you so much.”

“I acted just a little dumb when I asked questions,” said Cobb, shrugging. “Not like an idiot, but when people think you’re just a little dumber than them they like explaining things to you, has been my observation. Plus of course I eavesdropped a lot — parents telling their kids what this is all about are a pretty good source of info, and old farts debating what actually happened back in the day. How much of this is news to you?”

Boba shrugged. “Bits and pieces. I was growing up when all the Duchess Satine stuff happened and a bit preoccupied with losing my dad, getting a gang together, trying to avenge his death, going to prison, learning to survive in prison — I didn’t have much attention to spare for whatever was going on back on a homeworld that was never really my home. I’ve picked things up since then, piecemeal. Difficult when you’re persona non grata. Most Mandalorians don’t want to know me so I get things second-hand.”

“Why don’t they want to know you?” Cobb asked.

“Because I’m not a real Mandalorian,” said Boba patiently. “Remember, it isn’t just something you  _ are, _ it’s something you  _ do. _ There’s all these traditions, vows you swear, rites of passage. Din’s done them all. My dad was killed by the Jedi and I was left alone. There was no one to teach me anything and I missed the rites of passage you’re supposed to have as a kid. There’s no getting those back and so to them, I’m not a Mandalorian, I’m just dressed up like one.”

“You are to me,” said Din, and Boba smiled at him briefly.

“Plus I’m a clone and a lot of people hear the voice and assume I’m just another mass-produced trooper, and they don’t respect them.”

“Well, that’s stupid. Clones are just men, as good as any other,” Cobb said. “I’ve met a few, years back, working odd jobs and in the mines. After the survivors got demobilised there was no real support for them so they drifted into manual labour most of the time, that or private security work. Or they just kinda go off the grid and turn up in odd places, living in twos and threes, because they don’t feel right on their own.”

Boba stared at him. “You didn’t say you’d met clones before,” he said, rather accusingly. 

“Well, it was a long time ago, and I wasn’t real close to any of ‘em. Nice guys, though. You don’t remind me of them all that much.”

Boba grinned. “I’m not nice.”

“You’re unique,” said Cobb, grinning back. “Definitely a one-off. Anyways, that’s where we are now. Mando jamboree just outside of town, Din gave Bo-Katan his fancy spear, which I must say I was not expecting, the duel’s at noon tomorrow, and whoever wins some folks’ll be happy and some folks’ll be mad.”

“I gave it to her so she’d be harder to beat,” said Din. “It plays well for making me look confident, but if she doesn’t have a beskar weapon, and I have no idea if she has one, she’s at a big disadvantage against the Darksaber. I decided not to leave it to chance. Besides, I trained against Boba using that spear, and although their fighting styles are obviously different, having something a little familiar about the situation is useful when I need to keep such tight control of it. We really didn’t train enough, though. I wish I’d realised it would happen this soon.”

“You’re overthinking it,” said Boba. “I’d put money on you — if you wanted to win. Instead I’ll bet against you, because I like winning.”

“Well, thank you. I envy Bo-Katan, all she has to do is actually try her best to beat me.”

“That’s a big ‘all,’” said Cobb. The oven timer pinged. 

They put aside an equal share of the food for whenever Fennec and Rima came back, and ate together at the table, quietly, though the quality of the biscuits was praised.

“It’s the buttermilk,” Cobb said, “but when you don’t have that, plain yoghurt works pretty well.”

“Didn’t realise you cooked,” said Boba.

“I’m sure I told you.”

“Didn’t remember, then.”

“He’s a great cook,” said Din, loyally, before lapsing back into thoughtful silence. He stayed at the table, sunk in thought, his chin on his chest and his arms folded, when they had finished eating and Cobb took the dishes back to the kitchen. Missy had laid herself down across Din’s feet with a sympathetic huff. After a minute Boba got up and followed him to where he was running a little water in the sink and leaned against the counter, watching him. 

“You just gonna supervise, or dry?” Cobb asked him. 

“I’m a guest.”

“You’re one of the family.”

“That would be very touching if it wasn’t just you trying to make me work,” Boba said with half a smile, but he took the dishtowel from its hook and stood ready. “You’ve got a real little domestic nest here.”

“Thanks, I like it. I’m thinking about moving, though.”

“Where to? The big city?”

“Oh, no. This is my town, I want to end my days here. I want to build a house, a real homestead down in the ground. Something that feels permanent, you know? Now that it’s safe — at least, safe from dragons. Making a home together with Din is the best future I can think of.” He handed over a clean wet soup bowl, glanced back over to the dining area, and judged that Din wasn’t likely to overhear, but lowered his voice anyway. “Plus I’m really hoping that once this donnybrook is over, we’ll be able to find that Skywalker guy and bring Grogu home. That was a mistake, he’s been miserable about it ever since. He doesn’t make a fuss, gets on with things, but he kind of shuts down and goes off on these long walks when it gets to be too much for him. And I take care of him as best I can, but the thing that’s really going to make it better is having his kid back.”

“Are you sure?” Boba asked. “He’s left it a long time. Maybe he’s just trying to get over it.”

“I just… want us to all be together,” Cobb said. “Build a home with a little room for the kid, maybe some spare bedrooms… I know I’m coming to it late in life but I really want a family with him. Do you think I’m being too selfish?”

“It doesn’t sound selfish. I just wouldn’t get your heart set on it, eh? Try and enjoy what you’ve got now. If you had a kid in the house it’d put a pinch in your sex life.”

“Doors do have locks,” Cobb pointed out. “And there’s trade-offs in everything. You just have to decide what’s worth it to you.” He heard the scrape of Din’s chair on the floor as he got up, and said, “Let’s keep that between you and me for now.” Boba only nodded. 

Din came into the kitchen, Missy at his heels, and said, “I thought I’d make some coffee. You want some too?”

“You’re not drinking coffee now, it’ll keep you awake,” said Boba. 

“You’re gonna need your rest for tomorrow,” Cobb agreed, bending to give Missy’s back a quick scratch. She flopped down on her side, clearly feeling that she had had a long day for a little massif.

“I can still sleep. It’s just something to do. I can’t really  _ do _ anything till noon tomorrow, so it’s this or, I don’t know, deep-clean the bathroom.”

“Not true,” said Boba. “In the morning, you’ve got to go out and talk to people. Like Cobb said, you’ve got supporters. They’ll want to meet you.”

“But I’m only going to disappoint them,” said Din.

“Don’t act like you know that. Act like a man who’s really trying to defend his claim on the Darksaber. A would-be Mand’alor. That man would be out and about, shaking hands, finding out who his allies are.”

“I can’t do politics,” Din said wearily. “And I don’t like meeting lots of people.”

“Yes yes, you’re an introvert, so am I. Put up with it for one morning, or you’re going to undermine the whole thing. If anyone gets the idea you never really intended to win this match, it invalidates Bo-Katan’s win. Unless you’ve changed your mind and you  _ want _ to screw her over and cause chaos in the ranks of Mandalorian society, in which case fine by me. I’m just trying to help because it’s you.” Boba paused a moment, then said, “And of course we should have a contingency plan. In case, despite your best efforts to lose by a narrow margin, you fuck up and win.”

“If that happens, you challenge me, beat me, and it becomes your problem,” Din said with a little smile.

Boba chuckled. “I almost want to, just to piss them off. Then smash the thing.”

Din’s hand went to the hilt protectively. “Don’t  _ smash _ it,” he said. “It’s old and unique. However you feel about Mandalore, it’s wrong to destroy something like this just to piss people off.”

“Then I take it away to my tacky crime lord castle and declare Tatooine is New Mandalore. No, that’s far too much work. I’ve got a spice syndicate to annihilate next week, I’m really booked. Back to the ‘lose, but make it look good’ plan.”

“Alternatively,” said Cobb, “ask if there are any more challengers. There’s bound to be one, right? Just keep goin’ till somebody beats you. You’ll be getting tired, each new challenger will be fresh, it’s got to happen.”

“Unless it turns into one of those epic legend things where he beats all challengers and goes down in history as Mandalore the Ass-Kicker or something,” said Boba, “but if that happens I think you just have to accept you’re destiny’s bitch and roll with it.”

“You believe in destiny?” Cobb asked.

“I think I believe in strange things happening sometimes, unlikely strokes of fate, like that Tusken mob coming along just when I burst out of the sarlacc or me finding Fen when there was still just enough time to save her, but I don’t call it anything as organised as destiny.”

“We can goof about it a little,” said Cobb, “but the problem with this plan is the longer it goes on the more likely Din gets seriously hurt, or worse. And I need you, darlin’, so don’t go being epic and legendary.”

“He slew a dragon for you, you can’t complain about his epic tendencies now,” said Boba.

“Strictly speaking I believe he slew a dragon for  _ you, _ since it was over your armour, we just didn’t know it at the time.”

“Then it doesn’t count. He’s got to have you in  _ mind.” _

“I slew it firstly for a sacred concept of Mandalorian identity bigger than any individual person,” said Din, “and a very close second for Cobb, because he hooked me with his legs and then reeled me in with his smile.” Then he winked at him, dissolving him into startled and delighted laughter.

“What happened there?” Boba asked. Missy looked up with a quizzical whine.

“He just figured out how to flirt,” Cobb said, taking the dishtowel from him and wiping his eyes. “At least, he’s got a new move.” He put his hands to Din’s cheeks and kissed him, and felt his hands settle warm on his hips. “That’s not fair, you already impressed the hell out of me with your big entrance. I fell in love all over again.” Din’s thumbs hooked inside his belt and slid back and forth against the sides of his waist, where he was sensitive, and raised little tingles. “Is now the time, babe?”

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh, I like it. But we’ve got house guests, and not just Boba. The ladies might get back any time.”

Din sighed. “That’s true.” He left his hands where they were for the time being, though. 

“If I tell them you called them ladies, they’ll kick your skinny little butt,” said Boba. 

“You don’t strike me as the type to tattle,” said Cobb. “Speaking of house guests, we’re a little tight on space here.”

“Fennec and Rima could take the bunks on the  _ Mudhorn,” _ said Din. “And Boba…”

“Will take the couch,” said Boba. 

“Are you sure?”

“You’d be welcome to share our bed, but it’s not really big enough for three,” said Cobb. “It’s just a double, and yours is what, a king?”

“Best if I remove myself from temptation to keep you up all night,” said Boba, “but trying to squeeze into a double bed with both of you is not that tempting. Don’t suppose you’d accept the gift of a bigger bed.”

“It’d take up too much space in the room, and we could buy it ourselves if we wanted to,” Din said. “Oh, wait, this is another of those things where you’d enjoy thinking about us using it, right?”

“Bingo.”

“And you’d feel like you were taking good care of us.”

“A warm, smug glow of generosity,” said Boba. 

“You can get that from spoiling us at your place, though,” Cobb pointed out. 

“That’ll require you to show your face there again.”

“Okay, hint taken.”

“You drag him along next time, Din. Don’t accept any excuses about having to be here all day every day. There’s a limit to duty.”

“And on that note,” said Cobb, “I am heading out to make one last patrol before turning in early, just to make sure all’s well.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Din.

“Nah, you stay here. It’s just a quick fly-by, and you’d get a lot of attention if they saw you. Enough time for that in the morning, right?”

“If you’re sure,” said Din with evident gratitude and relief.

It was a very fine, clear night. Normally just a short distance out of town you would be in the full dark of the desert, with only the stars and moons for light, but the Mandalorian camp was a further bloom of light in the darkness. It looked like even more ships had landed; while he watched from a little distance away, another small one arrived and touched down. The bonfires were burning bright and Cobb could hear music, drums and what sounded like flutes that sometimes piped sweetly and sometimes squealed in a way that put your shoulders up by your ears. He could make out some singing, but not any words. They seemed to be settled in for a pleasant evening. In the distance at ground level he could see the headlights of what must be the returning convoy — they’d made good time. Tomorrow was going to be a big, strange day, even for people who didn’t have a personal stake in the duel. Mos Pelgo wasn’t used to hosting a lot of visitors, though he supposed it might be a useful dry run for if Boba’s plan for pod racer events ever came to fruition. At least they’d know the dates for those and could order in supplies in advance.

It was a damn peculiar feeling sitting out here on his idling bike in the dark watching and listening to Din’s people, only not his people. On one hand he believed Din absolutely deserved their respect and acceptance, and would make them a damn good leader if he absolutely had to. A self-effacing man like him would never take to that naturally, to the way you had to keep up connections with everyone and be a slightly bigger, bolder version of yourself in public, always with a smile and a confident word, but if he  _ had _ to, yes. On the other hand, Din was  _ his _ special person and it had taken him a hell of a long time to find him and they couldn’t have him. 

He remembered what Boba had said about accepting being destiny’s bitch and pushed the thought away again. Boba was just being snarky, as he liked to be, and there was no reason to think it was Din’s  _ destiny _ to lead the Mandalorians. Bo-Katan probably felt that it was hers, and to be fair to her, she’d evidently worked very hard for it for a very long time, hitting setback after setback but always picking herself up and pushing onward. It would be particularly mean and nasty of destiny to let her do that for years and then present everything she’d wanted to some random guy who didn’t ask for it or even know what was going on half the time. That was  _ if _ there was any kind of destiny or Force moving things around. He was still inclined to think not. The convoy lights were getting closer, and he rode out to meet them and give them an escort back. 

When he got home after helping with some unloading at the general store, he found that Rima and Fennec had returned from the cantina and there was a game of sabacc in progress around the coffee table. Din had his helmet back on, but Boba didn’t seem to feel it necessary around his daughter and his second in command. The general mood was cheerful and relaxed, apart from Din still being rather subdued. Missy had claimed Rima’s lap as she sat cross-legged on the floor and gone to sleep with her belly up. He took off the armour he’d put back on to go out and stacked the pieces on the dresser — sometime soon he’d see about building a proper rack for their gear, had wanted to do it as a sandstorm project but hadn’t had the materials on hand — and sat down next to Din on the couch and leaned his head on his shoulder to watch the game. 

They headed to bed before it got too late, Din taking Fennec and Rima out to the  _ Mudhorn _ to show them where everything was that they might need, and Cobb making up a bed on the couch for Boba. 

“You’re putting actual sheets on it,” said Boba, coming back from the bathroom. “I just meant I’d lie down on it and kip like that.”

“Well, I want to make it nicer for you than that. Hospitality’s important to me,” Cobb said, bending over to tuck the sheet under the seat cushion at the foot of the couch. Boba took the opportunity to put both hands on his butt to give it a squeeze and he chuckled. “Not too skinny to appeal to you, huh?”

“I should’ve mentioned I quite like skinny butts, on the right people.” Boba undressed as far as his undershirt and shorts while Cobb finished making the bed, and hung the rest of his gear over the armchair or stacked on its seat. “This is a big compliment, by the way. Means I consider myself under your protection and consider you competent to protect me. Wouldn’t want you to miss that little cultural nuance.”

“Why, Boba, sometimes you’re downright endearing. I would’ve missed it and it  _ is _ a big compliment. I’ll endeavour to be worthy of your trust.” He straightened up the blanket and put down a pillow. “And I’m glad you’re here. You can help Din with all these things I just don’t get. And I don’t know, I just kind of find you a reassuring person myself. I saw you pull up and thought, ‘oh good, here’s Boba.’”

“You’re one of a very select few to feel that way,” said Boba. “The standard response is, ‘oh shit, here’s Fett.’” He said it with some satisfaction. 

“Nice to have both kinds of people though, ain’t it?”

“It is.”

Unusually for him, Din couldn’t settle to sleep. Cobb could feel the alert tension in his back as he lay spooning him. 

“Hey,” Cobb whispered. “It’s okay. You can do it.”

“I know,” said Din, “I just keep running through different ways I  _ could _ do it, trying to imagine everything she might do and how I’d counter.”

“If you think too much about that she’ll probably break out some weird-ass move you never saw before. You just gotta stay loose and improvise like you do so well.”

“I’ve never been so hung up on a fight I wanted to win. Those, I just know I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to plausibly lose. You want a handjob to help you relax?”

“That’d be really nice.”

“My pleasure, darlin’. All you need to think about is how good it feels.”

“I’ll do you too,” Din said, rolling toward him in the dark. 

As he did more often than not, Cobb woke in the middle of the night or the very early morning and lay in the blackness wondering vaguely what was happening for a minute or so before he knew he was awake. He could feel Din lying beside him on his back as usual, and Missy curled up between them as usual. Also as usual, he needed a pee so he got up carefully without disturbing them and padded to the bathroom. After that he continued with his habit of a quiet walk round the house, just seeing that everything was safe. In his sleep he’d forgotten they had a guest and it gave him a hell of a shock when Boba startled awake and sat up abruptly from the couch. The blinds on the windows in here didn’t block the light as much as his bedroom curtains, so he could see the outlines of Boba’s head and shoulders and also a small light on the barrel of the blaster he was holding low by his side, which then shut off as Boba recognised him and relaxed, in the same brief moment it took him to step down from “intruder in my house!” to embarrassed relief. 

“No offence,” Boba said, and tucked the blaster back under his pillow. 

“What happened to being under my protection, huh?” Cobb asked. 

“Old habits,” Boba said, shrugging. “Notice I didn’t just shoot you straight away.”

“Yeah, okay. And I didn’t immediately hit the floor, so I guess on some level I knew we were okay.” He sat down on the end of the couch. “Gave me a turn just the same.”

“Why are you up sneaking around in the dark? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I nearly always wake up sometime in the night. I take a look around and then I can go back to sleep. Forgot you were here.”

“Don’t wake me in the middle of the night if it’s not an emergency or a miracle,” Boba said, giving him a push with his foot, but he stayed sitting up, rather than lie back down and pull the blanket over his head. “Din’s asleep?”

“Out like a light. Eventually. He’s really wound up.”

“Well, by tomorrow afternoon it’ll be settled one way or the other.”

“I just want him to be okay. There are times when I just want him to say to hell with all this Mando business, and then I think no, that’s like… asking him to say to hell with his right arm or something. It was a lot simpler when it was just about accepting that he didn’t want to show me his face. And I still wonder if he would have changed his mind about that if he hadn’t had to do it twice with other people while he was away from me. I think in his head it’s not that that showed him it’s okay, it’s just that he already blew it so it doesn’t really matter now.”

Boba nodded slowly; he was just a black outline with contours of grey and two specks of shine that were his eyes. “But it still matters enough that it’s only for you and me.”

“That’s true. I’m still a little surprised I feel this way, but I’m glad I share him with you.” He reached over and squeezed Boba’s arm. 

Boba reached out for him and put his hand on his knee. “I wanted to ask you about that.”

“Keeping in mind I’m a lil’ sleepy and might not remember talkin’ about it, sure.” 

“You’ve been sending him over to me by himself. What do you get out of that?”

Cobb pulled one leg up on the couch and tried to think it through. “Well, I get the happiness of knowing he’s having a good time with someone I trust to treat him right. I know, though I can’t really explain why, that you don’t make me feel jealous or shut out.”

“I was wondering if you  _ wanted  _ to feel jealous, like you were getting off on the thought someone else was fucking him.”

“You’re not doing that yet though, are you?”

“Not all the way, no, I’m respecting your hands and mouths rule. So that would make you jealous?”

“It’d make me disappointed I missed it. I want to be there and help. Make sure he’s comfortable and he can really enjoy it.”

“Then show up, man.”

“I get it, I get it, you want me there too.”

“I don’t think you do get it. It’d be truer to say that from the start of this I wanted  _ you,  _ and Din  _ too.” _

Cobb was surprised to be given priority. “But you two have so much in common. It feels like you really belong together.”

“He’s not the one whose smell was all around me driving me crazy. You’ve got some weird pheromone shit or something.”

“I did not drive you crazy.”

“Well, you made me horny at inconvenient moments, that’s bad enough.”

“You only said it made you feel like we had a close connection and you could make a move on me if you wanted.”

“Yeah, when I said that we weren’t yet at the stage where I felt like telling you I’d been wanking myself blind imagining fucking you on all fours.”

Cobb chuckled. “Honestly, I’m just laughing at myself. Here’s me  _ holding back _ to let you two have a good time, and I was disappointing you.”

“When you woke me up my first thought was — well, my  _ first _ thought was intruder, blaster. Next thought was, it’s Cobb in his boxers, am I getting lucky? But you didn’t act like it.” His hand moved on Cobb’s knee, squeezing lightly, then sliding up to rub just above it.

“You got lucky already today,” Cobb said, swatting his chest with the back of his hand. “I sent Din over to you with steam coming out of his ears. Or had he cooled off by the time he got there?”

“No, he was in quite a state. First time he’s pretty much dragged me upstairs on his own initiative. Pounced on me. And I’ve got you to thank for how nicely he does that, right?”

“I just had the luck to meet him at the right time.” He was enjoying the purposeful way Boba’s hand was travelling up his thigh. 

“Which is a modest way of saying you popped his cherry and taught him everything he knows.”

“You’re teaching him a thing or two, I’ve noticed when he comes home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Here, let me thank you first.” He leaned in and kissed Boba, warm and deep, and felt him thrust his tongue between his lips as his hand left his knee and came up to clutch his hair. Reluctantly, he pulled back. “Wait.”

“Wait?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry… now I feel it, I just don’t think tonight’s the night for this. Doesn’t feel right when Din’s here but he’s asleep.” He sat back a bit, relieved that Boba let go of his hair without any complaints, although the huff of breath he heard sounded disgruntled. 

“I guess it does feel like bad manners,” Boba said wearily. “Asking for next time, would you feel the same if he wasn’t? Like if you came to my place alone?”

“Oh, that’d be fine. It only feels rude if he  _ could  _ join in but we don’t invite him, you know? And he needs his sleep tonight. Big day tomorrow.”

“It’d feed into the whole epic legend, though. Gave his opponent a better weapon to give her a fighting chance, went home and had a vigorous all-night threesome, got up early next morning and defeated all challengers.” 

Cobb laughed, but there was a more serious idea behind that. “You want him to win, dontcha?” he asked. 

“Ah, well, I don’t  _ want  _ want him to win because I know it’s not what  _ he _ wants, and it’d take him away from me to boot, but it’d be a laugh if he did, eh? And I’d be proud of him. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. And I bet he  _ could.  _ Not that I’ve ever seen the lady fight, but she’ll have to be pretty damn good,” Cobb said. 

“Oh, she is. I give her that, no problem. Our boy’s going to have his work cut out for him, but he’s tough and quick. He can keep up with me and I’m widely regarded as something of a tough nut myself.”

“If I run that through the understatement filter, I’m getting that strong men pee their pants in fear when you show up.”

“Yeah, I’ve caused wetness in a lot of pants, one way and another,” Boba said smugly. 

“A ladies’ man too?” Was he the only one round here that just liked men?

“Not as much, but yes. I have bad taste in women, though. Not that they’re not nice girls, but I always fall for showgirls and dancers and so on, and there’s just no future in it. They don’t want to leave their careers and travel round with me. Well, some of ‘em would be happy to leave their careers and live in a nice little apartment I pay for and make a fuss of me when I come visit, but that gets expensive and I don’t really get much out of it. Hardly see them. Might be different now I’m going to stay in one place for a while, but then, my dance card’s pretty full with you two.”

“This is that sugar daddy thing?”

“I said I like spoiling you and I meant it. I enjoy spending my money making someone I like happy. It’s no fun if I’m not there to see them enjoying it, that’s all. In fact, I want to give  _ you  _ something.” He rubbed Cobb’s knee again. 

“I’ve got everything I need, though. And you gave me a big gift in that suit of armour.”

“Yeah, that was something you needed. It’s practical. Now I want to give you things that are totally impractical just because you like them. Toys for your ass, fancy food, booze, nice clothes, silky sheets, you tell me something you want and I’ll get it.”

“I don’t want you to, though. I don’t feel right just taking from you like that,” Cobb protested. 

“Come on, please! Something, it doesn’t have to be big or expensive.” It sounded like it would really bother Boba if he didn’t get to do this, which Cobb thought was pretty ridiculous, but he guessed he could humour him. The hard part really was thinking of something he wanted, but that didn’t make it look (more) like Boba was buying his loyalty. 

“I don’t know! A new banjo.”

“A  _ banjo?”  _ Boba repeated.

“I used to have a nice old banjo, and about two years back I was having a quiet musical evening for just me, myself and I, and two bandits broke into my house and rudely tried to kill me. I was a little tipsy and I’d let my guard down and didn’t have any weapons within easy reach, so I had to brain one of ‘em with the banjo to get his blaster and shoot his pal. The banjo got shot too, but it would never have been the same, anyway. With one thing and another I never managed to replace it. You get me a new banjo and I’ll enjoy that.”

“A banjo is not a sexy gift.”

“You didn’t specify sexy,” Cobb retorted.

“I thought the examples I gave were clear enough!”

“Too late, I’ve got my heart set on it now.”

“You’re going to be  _ difficult,  _ aren’t you?” Boba asked.

“Always. I am cross-grained and ornery to a degree. Why do you think those guys wanted to kill me?”

“Because you went out in my armour in the middle of the night, blew up their compound with rocket fire, then as the survivors staggered out of the ruins you lit a trail of fuses you’d laid on a nearby dune to spell GET OUT in letters of flame, you dramatic string bean.”

“Wow.”

“Yes.”

“You have a really good memory.” He was both flattered and a little unnerved to think Boba had been observing all that and he’d never known. 

“I was motivated to pay close attention.”

“They killed a family.” 

“You don’t need to justify it to me.”

“I just mean I didn’t do things like that for the drama.”

“You also don’t need to downplay it, that was one of the first times I found you mildly attractive.”

“Oh,  _ mildly?”  _ Cobb exclaimed. 

“Yeah, I still thought you were a scarecrow and a thief, but I could admit you had a certain style.”

“What’s with the scarecrow thing? I don’t think I looked that bad.”

“It didn’t fit you. Your shoulders were  _ here _ and the shoulder guards were  _ here.” _ Cobb felt him squeeze his shoulder and chop the air a couple of inches out from it. “You looked like a kid in his dad’s suit.”

“But when you wear it… you  _ are _ a kid in his dad’s suit,” Cobb pointed out. 

“Yeah, but  _ I _ can fill it out.”

“No argument here.” The “here” got stretched out into a yawn, and he realised they’d been talking quite a while. “Okay. I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“See you in the morning, scarecrow.”

“See you in the morning, kid.” Cobb got up and Boba slapped him on the backside in retaliation. “You watch it,” he said, pointing back at Boba as he shuffled off to his bedroom. “I’m a desperate man. I don’t need a banjo, I’ll take you down with a kazoo.”

“String bean ass,” said Boba, muffled as he burrowed down under his blanket. 

The Mandalorian encampment had grown still more during the night. There must be hundreds of people, perhaps over a thousand, all strolling or sitting or eyeing one another warily. There were flags and pennants fluttering everywhere and stalls set up among the parked ships, some put up by the Mandalorians themselves to sell each other armour, weapons, services for same, instruments, assorted hunting and survival equipment, and decorations, and others set up by industrious opportunists from Mos Pelgo, such as a stand selling bantha barbecue that was clearly a hit with the crowd, and another which was simply selling small bottles of sand attached to a chain or a ribbon on the cap, each laser-engraved in tiny letters with the words, “ _ Duel for the Darksaber, Deputy Din Djarin v Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, Mos Pelgo, 9 ABY _ .” They were one of the more pointless souvenirs Cobb had seen, since everyone who attended would leave with at least one bottle’s worth of authentic Mos Pelgo sand in their boots, but they were selling so well that a speeder had already been dispatched to the next town to get another pallet of the little bottles and two kids were earning pocket money filling them up with teaspoons. He was proud of their audacity. 

They made a conspicuous little group, himself, Din in his shining armour, Boba with his tattered dark desert skirts fluttering in the breeze, Rima and Fennec looking quietly hyper-competent and elegantly deadly, and Missy waddling around snorting and panting happily and occasionally dumping herself down on her haunches to look around at everyone and marvel that she lived in the best of all possible worlds. He’d decided not to wear his own armour today, just to avoid any appearance that he was some sort of wannabe, making him the most underdressed of the party, but perhaps the most comfortable given that it was shaping up to be a baking hot day. 

He kept observing both Din and Boba, smiling at the way Boba, although he was three or four inches shorter than Din, moved around with an air of effortless confidence, command and just a little arrogance, while Din… well, Din was doing what served him very well most of the time, being quiet, wasting no movement, subtly giving the impression that there was far more going on under the surface than he would ever let you see. He was just a bit overshadowed by Boba’s swagger. Although his  _ air _ of confidence was effortless, if you knew him reasonably well you knew Boba was not putting it on, exactly, but amplifying it for the occasion, and that sort of self-amplification was something Din didn’t necessarily know how to do. The upshot was it looked like Din was not to be trifled with but Boba was in charge. Cobb wondered if Din was aware of the deferential way he bent his head to listen when Boba talked (he was probably not aware of how cute it looked). So if it were to end up that Din, however unwillingly, defeated Bo-Katan and became an accidental duke (Mandalore the Accidental?), Boba was very visibly positioned as the man who had his right ear. Interesting. 

They made a general walking tour of the camp with frequent stops for people to meet Din. There were a lot of variations on the same conversation — someone asked Din about his clan, which seemed to be important to them, he told them it was Mudhorn, they said they’d never heard of that one, he explained that it was new, and they acted sort of sniffy about it. That wasn’t the universal reaction; some took more of an interest and asked questions like, “How many are you?” to which he replied, “Just me and my son,” and when they naturally asked, “Where is your son?” he answered, “... in school” and perhaps involuntarily exuded melancholy until they got a bit uncomfortable. A lot of people met him with their helmets off, and Cobb could feel his discomfort with that. They clearly sensed it too. He didn’t make a great impression on them, and Cobb overheard occasional remarks along the lines of “stuck in the past” and “reactionary element.”

Others, though, were favourably impressed, and said things like, “We could do with a return to tradition” and, “Mandalore was lost when we departed from the Way.” The warmest response came from a truly massive man in full armour who slapped Din on the back hard enough to make him cough and said, “I didn’t expect to see you again, much less like this, but it looks like you’ve done us proud.”

Cobb gave Din a curious look and he explained, “This is a member of the Nevarro covert I belonged to.”

“Oh, the guys who saved your life when you were rescuing the kid?” Cobb asked. He offered his hand to the big guy, who shook it with a grip like iron. “I’m always happy to meet a friend of Din’s.”

“This is the marshal of Mos Pelgo, Cobb Vanth,” said Din. “Marshal, this is Paz Viszla of the Fighting Corps Heavy Infantry.” They had agreed over breakfast that they weren’t going to mention their personal relationship because it would be a distraction from the key matter of the day. Cobb suspected it was more because Din still felt ashamed to make any public admission of his choice to be with him, with all the departure from the Way that it implied, but he couldn’t blame him for feeling that way in the circumstances. He wasn’t about to press him on it when he was already under pressure.

“Din has done a lot to help me and my town,” he told Viszla, “so yes, I think you should be proud.”

“Have you seen any of the others?” Din asked. “When I went back, only the Armourer was there, and later I heard she left too. I was sorry to see it. Glad you made it out.”

“They fought bravely to the last,” said Paz, “but only a few of us escaped. She ordered me to leave. I had a couple of new foundlings to protect.” He turned and nodded his head towards two little kids in helmets who were making Missy’s acquaintance. “They’ll do well. It’s just me for now, but I hope others will arrive this morning. Maybe she will too. I know she would want to see this day, when a child of the Watch restores the Way to the people.”

“Don’t jinx me,” Din said with an uncomfortable laugh.

“You’ll wipe the floor with her,” said Paz scornfully. “She’s out there walking around barefaced. Who can respect that? No pride, no dignity, no honour. No offence,” he added to Cobb, “we don’t expect the same standard from you.”

“None taken. I respect your commitment to your creed,” Cobb said politely, privately reflecting that although Din was deeply committed, this guy seemed like more of a zealot. His praise was doubtless making Din feel awkward as hell, and it was a pity someone he knew personally had to be here to be disappointed in him. 

“Care to put money on it?” Boba asked. “I’m running a little book on today’s duel.” Viszla ignored him, as indeed he had been ignoring him since he approached Din. 

“I’ll be cheering for you,” he told Din, gripping his shoulder. “You’re kind of an idiot, but you’re  _ our _ idiot and we’re proud of you.”

“He’s not just yours,” said Boba, stepping purposefully into Viszla’s line of sight. Viszla still contrived to ignore him. “You’re on my planet and you’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you,  _ son.”  _

Speaking to Din, Viszla said, “I don’t acknowledge fake Mandalorians.  _ Anyone _ can dishonour the armour by putting it on and wearing it without understanding what it means. Out of respect for the occasion, I’m currently refraining for reclaiming that suit for the Watch. It’d do for the kids’ target practice.”

“That’s very funny,” said Boba. “I’ll give  _ your _ armour to my daughter, she won’t mind cleaning the scraps out of it.”

“Don’t mind at all, Dad,” said Rima staunchly.

“Can I borrow you for a second, Boba?” Cobb asked. “Would really appreciate your input over  _ here.” _ He took his life and Boba’s arm in his hand and pulled him away. 

“Stay of execution,” Boba said, making a gesture at Viszla that Cobb would have to ask Din the meaning of. It evidently wasn’t very nice; the big man gave a full-body twitch like he’d just stopped himself from charging forward. Cobb dragged Boba over to the barbecue stand and into line. 

“You need to try this,” he said. “They’ve got a mix of spices that can’t be beat. Also, please don’t kill Din’s other friends.”

“I reserve the right to kill anything that insults me like that,” said Boba.

“Oh, he was being an asshole, no arguments here, but as a personal favour to me, just don’t do any murders in and around my town, because I don’t enjoy arresting my friends.”

“You’d arrest me?” Boba asked.

“I’d arrest the hell out of you,” Cobb said with a smile.

“All right then, I won’t, because I quite like you and it’d be a shame to kill you too,” Boba said, settling down.

“Thank you. Sweet of ya.”

“You’re buying, though.”

“Fair enough.” They reached the front of the line and he ordered two of the crusty bread rolls with most of the inside pulled out and refilled with tender, smoky, spicy meat, avoiding the usual sandwich problem of the middle squirting out of the sides when you bit in.

“You’re only doing this so you can ogle my chin when I lift my helmet up to eat it,” Boba said.

“You’ve got my number, I’m a chin man.” To make him laugh and flatter him just a bit, he made a point of staring and gave him a saucy wink when the helmet was back in place. That seemed to improve Boba’s mood markedly, as did the fact that the food was delicious. They went back to find the others and found that Din was avoiding talking to adults with politics by introducing Missy to children, under a shade awning someone had made by stretching a big tarp between the hulls of two ships. Rima and Fennec were keeping an eye on him with bemused tolerance. 

“Go and get something to eat, you two,” said Boba, sucking a last bit of sauce off his thumb, “the barbecue’s excellent.” Breakfast at home had been a little light due to the unexpected guests and Cobb had been embarrassed to offer them so little.

“If you like that you should try to be in town for the annual chili cook-off,” he said.

“I heard you win every year,” said Din, looking up from teaching a bareheaded toddler about gentle pats. 

“Naw,” Cobb said modestly, “three years ago we had a tie for first place.”

“And I bet you’re one of those guys who treats his secret recipe like the Death Star plans,” said Boba. 

“Of course not. They  _ stole _ the Death Star plans. My security is much tighter.” He tapped the side of his head. Joking with Boba was helping him not to melt into a puddle at how sweet Din was with kids; he talked to them so seriously and politely. And it was interesting to see him  _ choosing _ to talk to kids, because when they were first living together he had seemingly tried his best to avoid them. Maybe that was a bit of healing for him. He didn’t buy Boba’s suggestion that Din was just getting over the loss of Grogu, but if he could enjoy being around other children, as it seemed he was enjoying it now, that was nice. It was also nice how, to the kids, the fact Din had the ancient magic sword of leadership was far less interesting than the fact that he had a puppy.

Someone bumped him from behind and said, “Hey!” They sounded friendly, and he turned to look. Sabine Wren was smiling up at him, although it took him half a second to recognise her because her pink and orange hair was purple and scarlet now. 

“Sabine!” he exclaimed. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Did you find your Mando?”

“I sure did, that’s him right there. Did you find your Ezra?”

“Not yet,” she said, “but we live in hope. Wait, that one?” She gestured at Din.

“I’m the spare,” said Boba. She gave him a startled look, then refocused. 

“Your Mandalorian turned out to be the  _ Mandalore?” _ she asked. 

“Well, he wasn’t when I met him, and he didn’t intend to be, but I guess currently he is.”

“Well, you definitely have… some kind of taste. Expensive? I don’t know.” She craned a little to look and said, “Yeah, he’s got the Darksaber. Used to be mine.”

“Say what?” Cobb asked, startled.

“For a little while the Darksaber was mine. I took it from the Nightsisters on Dathomir, and I learned to fight with it from a Jedi, but later on I gave it to Bo-Katan.”

“My, but you do keep busy.”

Cobb hadn’t thought Din was listening to them in particular but he bounced to his feet, leaving a confused but pleased child hugging Missy, and strode over to them to demand, “You gave it to her? She just let you  _ give _ it to her?”

“Uh… yeah,” said Sabine. “Personal space,” she added, because Din’s helmet was about half an inch from her nose. 

“Sorry,” he said, stepping back. “But the whole reason why all of this is happening is that she  _ wouldn’t _ let me just give it to her. I offered!”

“It was complicated. Very complicated. I didn’t necessarily have it by right to begin with, because I  _ took _ it, I didn’t defeat the last person who held it. Though then there was this trade that went wrong, and this  _ jerk _ took it, and I took it back from  _ him,  _ so then — well, the upshot of the whole thing is that I convinced Bo-Katan it was okay for her to receive it from me, and the gathered clans approved.  _ Now, _ of course, people say that wasn’t legitimate either, and that’s why she lost it in the Purge, and so on and so forth… I guess that’s why she feels she  _ has _ to win it from you, to show that it’s all fair and square, and finally draw a line under all this  _ messiness _ and uncertainty. This has all been going on for so long. There are people who say it should just go back to Clan Viszla, there are people who say it should be broken down and remade, there are —”

“Wait a second, Viszla? Isn’t your boy from Nevarro called Viszla?” Cobb asked Din. 

“Yes, but I didn’t know that meant anything. He’s just a guy.”

“You didn’t know Tarre Viszla made the Darksaber?” Sabine asked, incredulously. 

“Excuse me,” said Boba. “I say this with the greatest affection and respect. You should always assume this man doesn’t know shit about  _ anything.” _

“Harsh,” said Din reproachfully. 

“You’re the one who asked me if I was a Jedi. You’re the one who, and Cobb will back me up on this, recently said, ‘Who’s Darth Vader?’ You’re cute but you’re ignorant.”

“I’m sorry, babe, but it’s true,” said Cobb, and then bit his tongue because he wasn’t supposed to be treating Din like his partner today. No, wait, that was okay, Sabine was well aware he’d been lovesick for him when he met her. “You… you know  _ what you know  _ really well. But there’s an awful lot you don’t know.”

“Well, if it’s supposed to be Paz’s, let’s just go  _ find _ him and  _ give _ it to him. He should be thrilled,” said Din. 

“Do  _ not _ give the Darksaber to that prick,” said Boba. “You heard how he spoke to me.” Cobb noticed him make a small gesture and a sideways twitch of the head towards Rima and Fennec, who had returned, sandwiches in hand; they nodded and moved to stand one at either end of the awning space, ready to see off any eavesdroppers. The children playing with Missy had taken her a little way off to be able to throw a ball for her; he had to keep glancing that way just to make sure they were still fine. There was a lot going on at once here and he felt he had to keep tabs on all of it.

“I don’t even know a Paz Viszla,” said Sabine, “but if you change the plan now everyone is going to freak out. You’ve committed to a duel with Bo-Katan Kryze for the Darksaber today and if you don’t do that, it destabilises everything. Also, hold up, you’re Boba Fett, right?”

“Yes,” said Boba, inclining his helmet slightly towards her.

“Well, I know your little brother Rex, and you sound so much like him it’s spooky.”

“We’ve got the same vocal cords,” said Boba, “we can’t help it.”

“I heard you took over the planet or something.”

“That’s a minor exaggeration. Do you want a job?” he asked. “You seem to have your head screwed on right.”

“No, thank you, I’m self-employed. And didn’t you use to work for the Empire?”

“As an independent contractor,” said Boba, shrugging. “I wouldn’t go back. And I think you’ll find I helped take that ship for good ol’ Mandalore,” he added, pointing up at the cruiser above the clouds.

That, as Cobb understood the story, was over-egging the omelette a little, but Din didn’t correct him. “In short,” he said instead, “I still have to fight Bo-Katan at noon today.”

“You knew you did anyway, bub,” said Boba, not unsympathetically.

“I could have done without the false hope, is all.”

“Sorry,” said Sabine. 

“Can I give it back to  _ you?”  _ Din asked.

“Wow, you really don’t want this thing, do you?” she asked.

“I have other priorities.”

“Some people will say,” she said, folding her arms, “that the person who doesn’t seek power is the one best suited to wield it.” 

“Some people will say anything,” said Din. “I wouldn’t want somebody who doesn’t even want to be there and resents the obligation in charge.”

“And other people will say that someone who doesn’t respect and value the Darksaber absolutely should not have it.” Her voice turned rather cold on that.

“It’s not the Darksaber I don’t want, it’s what comes with it. And I didn’t understand about that when I won it, I just thought it was a very cool, weird laser sword that was in the wrong hands. What you need to understand is that in some ways the Children of the Watch are the most traditional Mandalorians but in other ways we’re cut off from our culture and heritage. I confiscate a sword from a creep who abducted my kid and then I get told it’s a sacred weapon a thousand years old that determines the leadership of my people, and I have no context for that. I do respect and value it as a rare and useful weapon but I can’t revere it the way someone who grew up understanding what it is can.” He ran out of steam a bit at the end of an uncharacteristically long speech. “So,” he said, “I hope you understand I don’t mean any disrespect. I’m just... ignorant.”

Sabine nodded slowly. “I think I see where you’re coming from,” she said. “But why are you afraid to duel Bo-Katan? You look like a guy who can handle himself in a fight.”

“I’m not afraid at all. I just have no desire to do it. She isn’t a threat to me or anyone I care about. We’ve worked together and she’s helped me. There’s much we don’t agree on, but I respect her.” He sighed. “I can’t throw the fight, and if I win, I’m stuck with it.”

“Don’t worry, bub, if that happens I promise to beat you down and tear it from your grip, even if I have to break your fingers and dislocate your thumb to do it,” Boba said kindly.

“You’re a good friend,” Din said, with a little crackle on his voice that suggested he was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t let anyone say I don’t look after you.” Boba turned to Sabine. “Or you can have a go at him if you like. You’ve got the relevant experience.”

“I may if it comes to that,” said Sabine. “Sounds like it would be a kindness to all parties. I won’t wish you luck, but, well, may the Force be with you.” She turned to Cobb. “Walk me back to my ship?”

“Oh? Sure.” He followed her out between the ships and along the street, for want of a better word, that had formed around the middle of the encampment. He felt a little unsure how to be with her now. Despite how different they were and how young she was, the first time they’d met he’d poured his heart out to her and felt they made a genuine connection. This time she’d mostly talked to the others, and he wondered if there really was much of a connection between them.

“Your boyfriend is… interesting,” she said with a little laugh. 

“We say partner. You’re not seeing him at his best. His best is amazing. Did you see him arrive last night?” He found he was anxious for Sabine to understand just how special Din was; that he hadn’t  _ just _ been lovesick but had actually found someone great.

“I did, it was impressive. I actually wondered if he knew more about aesthetics and presentation than about fighting. No offence, I’m an artist, I tend to analyse what I see in those terms.”

“Oh, he doesn’t do things like that on purpose,” Cobb explained. “It just happens, as far as I can tell. It’s like he accidentally wanders into a spotlight, then just stands there gleaming.”

“And… you do know Boba Fett has a pretty bad reputation, right? I’ve been hearing people talk. A lot who were in support of Din to begin with cooled right off when they saw them walking around together.”

“I’m aware. As far as I can gather, he deserves that reputation, at least for his past. But I’ve been getting to know him pretty well, and I think there’s more to him than that. I think he’s one of those people who has a before and an after part of his life, and his after part is shaping up very different to the before,” Cobb said. “And he’s Din’s friend. It seems pretty much as soon as they met Boba would do anything to help him. I think he’s a little in love with him too, he just thinks he’s too hard-boiled for that.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?” she asked.

“No, we have a good understanding. And I’m hard-boiled enough that if I see anything that seriously worries me, I won’t let it slide. Not about Din, about his whole operation on this planet. As long as he’s taking out traffickers and gangsters, he’s all right by me. Call me a pragmatist, but idealism never did get me far.” 

“This is me,” said Sabine, pointing. They had come to a small ship emblazoned with stylised starbirds in richly airbrushed colour. There was a stall set up in front of it with a similarly painted sign reading “Sabine Wren — weapons artist. Customisation, repair, decoration. Explosives and pyrotechnics a speciality.” On display was a decorated suit of armour and an assortment of paintings done in a bold, splashy pop style on what looked like salvaged materials from wrecked Imperial ships and walkers — one panel had a portrait of General Organa in the style of a Rebellion graffiti stencil, another a Togruta woman wielding two white lightsabers, and another was of a young man with blue eyes and darker blue hair, with the words “Have you seen me? Reward for information,” underneath. 

“That your Ezra?” he asked. 

“Yep. It’s the artsiest wanted poster ever, right? I keep it out whenever I set up shop just in case. These subjects don’t sell so well to Mandalorians,” she said, waving towards the two other portraits, “but they’re some of my best work so I like to display them anyway.”

“The ‘Death of Emperor Palpatine’ sold while you were out,” said a familiar voice, and Cobb looked round for Boba even as he knew there was a perfectly good reason why that wasn’t Boba. A man was coming down the ramp from the belly of the ship, cleaning his hands with a painty rag. “Everyone likes that subject.” Cobb supposed he was seeing Boba as Boba might have looked without all the scar tissue — although this clone was also bald, so maybe it was Boba a few more years down the track. He had thick dark eyebrows and a white beard that was kind of cute in a grandpappy way, and the build of a big strong active man whose metabolism began slowing down a while ago. He was wearing paint-smeared overalls with the sleeves knotted around his thick waist and a white undershirt that left his big brown arms bare and all in all, much as he liked him just the way he was, Cobb could see that Boba was missing out on something, not getting to look like this.  _ Try not to be a creepy clone chaser, _ he scolded himself.

“Cobb, this is Commander Rex, formerly of the Grand Army of the Republic, latterly of the Rebellion, these days pretending he’s retired and fooling no one,” said Sabine. “And Rex, this is Marshal Cobb Vanth, who runs Mos Pelgo.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Cobb, offering his hand and getting some paint on his fingerless glove when it was shaken. 

“Sorry about that,” said Rex. “I am so retired. Here I am on holiday. A tourist. I even bought a dinky little souvenir.” He dug in his pocket and held up one of the little sand bottles. “Oh, and I took an order for some fireworks for tonight. And took the liberty of putting together some star shells for them, because I wasn’t sure you’d have time later. And cleaned up the workshop a bit, don’t worry, I didn’t touch any projects, I just gathered up the crap strewn about the floor.”

“I need some creative chaos to work, Rex,” said Sabine. “Strewing crap is part of my process. But thank you for all your help. That you insist on doing. While claiming to be retired.”

“Don’t I look retired to you?” Rex asked, smiling at Cobb. 

“I refuse to get in the middle of this,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d better get back. Nearly 11.30.”

“We’ll be there to watch,” Sabine said.

“Who do we want to win again?” asked Rex. “Still Bo-Katan?”

“Still Bo-Katan,” she said. “She’s a known quantity, we have a relationship already, she actually wants to win whereas — get this — the new guy never wanted it and is just trying to lose it with honour.”

“So this isn’t going to be much of a fight,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“You wait and see,” said Cobb. 

A kind of arena had been marked out on the ground a short distance away, a large circle outlined by stakes stuck in the sand. A crowd was gathering around it, adults with kids riding on their shoulders to see, some people just hovering by jetpack for the best view. Bo-Katan stood on one side of the circle, pacing back and forth, spinning the beskar spear so that it flashed in the harsh sunshine. She had to be nervous, if only because so much hung on the result of this match, but her face was impassive. Her two supporters were just outside the stakes, the woman holding Bo-Katan’s helmet as well as her own. Cobb wondered if she was intending to fight bareheaded, which seemed unwise, but maybe it was a showmanship kind of thing. He was just behind the stakes on Din’s side of the ring, wishing he knew how to be more help. Boba was standing beside him, legs akimbo and arms folded across his chest, looking around from time to time in a slow sweep. Din was standing in a similar position, but his attention seemed to be turned inward, his helmet tilted slightly down, unmoving, kind of meditative. Cobb thought he was probably just trying to stay calm. The time was ticking down towards noon. At about three minutes to, Din abruptly turned around to face him. 

“Whatever happens today,” he said quietly, “thank you for the way you’ve supported me. It would be much harder to do this without you behind me.” 

“Whatever happens today,” Cobb said, “you’ll always have me supporting you.” He cast around for something else supportive to say. “Good luck,” well, Din probably wouldn’t want the outcome to depend on luck. “May the Force be with you” sounded nice but he didn’t really believe in it. He squeezed Din’s shoulder and settled on the simple, poetic, “Kick her ass, baby.” He heard a small, appreciative snort from inside the helmet, and then Din turned back to face into the ring.

A Mandalorian referee (Cobb supposed, no one was explaining this to him) strode out to the middle of the circle and began to make a speech. It was all in their language, though, and he had no idea what they were saying. “You understand that?” he asked, leaning sideways to Boba.

“Parts,” said Boba. “Shh.”

It seemed like a safe guess that the referee was explaining the rules of engagement and introducing the combatants. At one point they swept out an arm towards Bo-Katan, wearing her helmet now, who stepped forward to a roar of support, and then towards Din, who also got quite a healthy roar. He was expecting some kind of “on your marks, get set, go,” or the ring of a bell but the referee simply stepped out of the arena and Din and Bo-Katan charged at each other. The Darksaber struck the beskar spear with a clash that made his back prickle. It was a furious battle that was almost too fast to follow as an onlooker. There was no question that Din was giving it everything he had — he had to or he would have been punctured in three or four places within the first minute. Cobb was caught between his alarm for Din’s life and his rising excitement at seeing him fight for it. He was so quick and so fierce, and his movements ranged from graceful to savage, feet stamping and kicking in the sand, cape flying and snapping. Bo-Katan had received the spear only the night before but she wielded it as smoothly as if she’d been using it for years, swift and agile, using it not only to strike at Din and fend off his attacks but to help her vault and spin to avoid him or to fly at him from unexpected angles. 

She managed to nick through the left sleeve of his flight suit above the elbow, and the sleeve began to soak darker with blood. He held the sword in his right hand, but the pain in the left arm would be a distraction, unless he was too buzzed with adrenaline to notice it now. The next meaningful blow came when he crashed the butt of the Darksaber’s hilt against the side of her helmet and she staggered. Cobb realised he was unconsciously moving the way he wanted Din to move, like he was trying to cue him, making little lunges and stabbing motions and at one point twisting and bumping into Boba, who was still standing there like an immovable object, only turning his head to look at him and somehow, through an expressionless visor, convey that he was being embarrassing. His attention was torn back to the ring when Bo-Katan gave a muffled scream and the crowd gasped; the blade of the Darksaber had grazed the outer side of her thigh. If it had hit her solidly it would have taken her leg clean off. Just the edge brushing against her was clearly a painful wound and, Cobb thought, probably not what Din had intended to do, but there was no way to control for everything a determined opponent might do and ensure you wouldn’t seriously injure them. 

Both of them were bleeding now and the fight had been going on long enough that their first rush of energy would be ebbing. Cobb had no idea whether the rules of this kind of duel allowed for breaks or pit stops for first aid and he was inclined to think not. They would have to fight growing exhaustion and blood loss as well as each other, and over their next few exchanges he could see both of them becoming more wary and defensive. Bo-Katan’s injured leg shook and she fell, rolling frantically out of Din’s way, and then before Cobb saw quite how she did it she swung the spear between his feet and knocked one leg out from under him. He fell on the blade of the Darksaber and only the fact it struck and rebounded from his beskar chestplate prevented him being run through. Both of them sprawled on the ground, Bo-Katan rolled again, there was a brief, confusing scrum of arms and legs and then she was kneeling on Din’s back, holding the shaft of the spear against his neck, one hand on either side of his head, and pulling back hard. The crowd yelled as one. He kicked and bucked but couldn’t throw her off, and made an awkward attempt to slash back behind himself with the Darksaber, which she managed to dodge; she had to let go of her spear with one hand to do so, but the next second flipped it and brought the butt of it down hard on the back of Din’s right hand, splitting the old durasteel guard on the back of his glove. She slammed it down again, harder, and his hand spasmed and dropped the hilt. She lunged over and grabbed it and rolled away from him to land crouched on one knee, the Darksaber held out in front of her, only realising then that she’d just won. The crowd noise dropped into silence and then surged to be deafening. 

Bo-Katan got to her feet with evident difficulty, using the spear as a prop again, then stood straight and tall, her knees locked to stop the wounded leg shaking, and flourished the Darksaber over her head.

“That was quick,” Cobb muttered. He’d seen they were tiring but still somehow thought they’d had more in them — but none of that looked as if Din had given up fighting. Depending on how the spear shaft had caught him across the neck he might have been unable to breathe.

Din was still lying on his belly on the sand, wringing his injured hand with the other. Cobb wasn’t sure if there was any rule about staying down, if he really felt unable to get up, or if he just couldn’t be bothered at this stage. He badly wanted to run over and check on him, but doubted an outsider was allowed into the ring. Bo-Katan tore off her helmet and shook out her blazing red hair, then turned and looked at Din. She stuck the butt of the spear into the ground and bent down. At first Cobb assumed she was going to be chivalrous and give him her hand to help him up, but then, with a surge of dread, he saw she was reaching for the back of his helmet. He heard Boba give a startled curse and forgot everything about being an outsider, vaulted over the ring of stakes and ran towards them as fast as he could go. 

He was too late to stop her; she grabbed, wrenched and pulled Din’s helmet clean off. Din dropped his face in the sand, covering his head with both arms. As Bo-Katan straightened up and held Din’s helmet up like it was his severed head, drawing screams from the crowd, Cobb skidded to a stop on his knees, ripping the scarf from his neck, and threw it over Din’s head. 

“It’s okay, darlin’, I got you, nobody saw a thing,” he panted. He felt footfalls thudding in the sand and Boba arrived beside them, swinging his gaffi stick off his back and looking ready to knock a head off. “You stay there,” Cobb barked at him, jabbing a pointed finger down, and he bounded up and walked stiff-legged with fury over to Bo-Katan, who was making a slow turn on the spot to let everyone see both the helmet and the Darksaber, one raised in each hand. He could see her wounded leg shaking again and it would have been really satisfying to kick her in the back of the knee and see her fall, but instead he slapped the arm holding the helmet down and snatched it from her hand with both of his.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “You should be ashamed.”

Bo-Katan looked at him, panting, not quite seeing him at first. She had a good big bruise on her temple too where Din had hit her; the inside of the helmet couldn’t be padded too well at that point. Her headband was broken above the ear. She flashed a crooked grin and said, “This is the Way.”

“Don’t ever come to this town again,” he snapped, turned his back on her and hurried back to Din’s side. 

Boba had got him sitting up and bent over with his head between his knees, the red scarf still draped over his head and hiding his face. Boba was rubbing the top of his back, above the armour, and passing a flask under the scarf. “Drink some of that, bub, you’ll feel better,” he said, and his voice was both gruff and kind.

“Hey,” said Cobb, kneeling down in front of Din. “Din? It’s okay, babe. You did what you came to do. All done now. I got you your helmet back. Here, just slide it on under the scarf, it’s okay. There you go. I am so proud of you.” Boba was busy putting a field dressing on the cut on Din’s left arm, and as Din slowly lifted his head, the scarf sliding down on his shoulders, Cobb took his right hand to examine it. “Can you move your fingers?” he asked. Din flexed them and gave a little hiss of pain. 

“Not broken,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Feels like a bruise on the bone.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Cobb said. He forgot anything except trying to comfort Din, and leaned his forehead against the brow of the helmet. “Everything’s fine now. We’ll get you patched up and you’ll be good as gold.”

“It’s not — I’m not — this is not okay,” Din said wretchedly. “She removed my helmet. In front of everyone.”

“Baby, nobody saw anything. You dropped your face straight down, you covered your head, I covered you up too.”

“She still did it,” he said, and his voice cracked. “That’s what matters.”

“I’ll kick her ass,” Cobb muttered. 

“No, let me,” said Boba. 

“Don’t — nobody — stop it, both of you,” Din said. “It’s done. The damage is done.”

“She had no right,” Cobb said. “You faced her fair and you even gave her the spear, she had no right to try and humiliate you like that.” 

“She had every right,” said Boba. “She didn’t  _ have _ to do it, she’s a mean piece of shit, but she had every  _ right.” _

Footsteps and the thunk of a hard object in the sand beside them. They all looked up to see Bo-Katan, leaning on the spear. “Maybe now,” she said, “you can join the rest of us in the present day. It’s not such a bad place. Thanks to you I have another chance to make it better.” She braced her knee and pushed the spear towards Din. He reached up with his left hand and took it. “As I promised,” she said, “I return this to you. You fought bravely. Just as I’d expect. I’ll keep a place for you on my team whenever you want to take it up.”

“Get lost, you snake,” said Cobb.

“This doesn’t concern you,” she said coldly.

“The hell it doesn’t.  _ Get!” _

Din laid his right hand on his shoulder. “Stop,” he said. “No need.”

“Come and find me when you’re ready. Mandalore needs men like you,” she said, and walked away. Her supporters closed in around her, the crowd rushing into the arena, and they picked her up and carried her off on their shoulders to celebrate. That left them alone. The onlookers who had been hoping for Din to win were dispersing quietly. Fennec and Rima came over, Rima carrying Missy in her arms. She set her down gently and she clambered into Din’s lap, whining with worry. 

“It’s okay, Missy,” Din said quietly, rubbing her bristly back, “Papa’s okay. Just a fight. Nothing I’m not used to.” 

“Well,” said Boba, “they can all go and fuck themselves. I’m proud of you. Let’s go home and get drunk, eh?”

“The go home part sounds good,” said Din. He offered the scarf back to Cobb, who tied it back around his neck reluctantly, feeling unreasonably as if Din keeping it on would give him some kind of  _ treatment _ he needed. Like Bo-Katan earlier, Din used the spear as a prop to push himself up, but then checked the tip, wiped away some blood, and slung it on his back where it belonged. He gave a heavy sigh, and began to turn back towards town and home. 

A clear, sharp voice cut the air. “That is no longer your armour. Take it off.”

Din stopped motionless. Cobb looked up from scooping up Missy and saw a Mandalorian in a brassy-gold helmet walking towards them, carrying what looked like blacksmith tools. She was followed by the big guy from before, Viszla. His kids were hanging back at the ring of stakes, looking both eager and scared to see what would happen. 

Din turned around slowly and faced the woman. “Armourer,” he said very quietly.

“I should not have to tell you a second time.”

“You’ve shamed us all,” said Viszla, sounding furious but almost tearful, and the Armourer held up one hand to silence him. 

“Take it off,” she said. “I will melt it down, purify it, and put it to good use.”

Almost too softly to be heard, Din said, “No.”

There was an icy pause. 

“I don’t have much left,” he said, “but this is mine.”

“You forfeited your right to it when you let your helmet be removed.”

“I need it.”

“You are no longer Mandalorian.  _ Take it off.” _

“Hey!” Cobb exclaimed. They both ignored him. 

Din stood staring at the Armourer for a long moment. His whole body exuded exhaustion. Finally he said, “I’ll fight you for it.”

“Whoa!” said Cobb, grabbing Din’s shoulder. “You’re in no condition to fight anybody. And ma’am, you can just —”

The shaft of the spear hit him across the chest and pushed him back. Missy whimpered. “This is none of your business,” Din said sharply. “This is not your place to speak. Stand down before I have to put you down.”

Cobb’s mouth dropped open in shock and hurt. Behind Din, he saw Boba shake his head. He took a deep breath, couldn’t find words, and took another. Finally he nodded. “Kick her ass, baby,” he said, and walked away. He heard weapons clash together behind him and winced. There was no way he could not watch. He turned to see the worst as Boba, Fennec and Rima joined him, Boba putting one hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

Viszla had fallen back too, leaving Din and the Armourer alone. Cobb had never seen anyone literally fight hammer and tongs before. It was fast and brutal. Din was already tired and hurt and it seemed the most he could do was to fend off the blows and retreat. 

“If it looks like she’s going to kill him, I’m gonna shoot her,” he said to Boba. “I don’t care who she is.”

“Give him a chance,” said Boba quietly. Din resorted to using his flamethrower to drive the Armourer back, buying himself a little breathing room, raising a stench of scorched fur from her stole. Between that and the fire and the sun she must be perishing from the heat; that might help a little at least. She closed back in and the terrible clashing began again. A smaller crowd was re-forming around the circle, having realised there was still some kind of action going on, murmuring amongst themselves, no cheers or yelling. 

Din’s arm must be really paining him now; it was visibly more difficult for him to raise it than the other. His right hand must be hard to use too. For whatever reason, he wasn’t fast enough raising the spear to block a swing of the tongs, it was dashed aside, out of the grip of his right hand though the left still held it, and the next blow came from the hammer. 

It swung through the air horizontally. There was time to see there was nothing to stop it hitting Din, yet not enough time for him to do anything to avoid it. It crashed into the side of his helmet, level with his cheek, and the force of it threw him off his feet. He was actually rolled over in the air before he fell at full length. Some onlooker went “Oh!” in dismay. Missy yelped because Cobb was holding her too tight. He forced his arms to loosen. He wasn’t feeling much fear, oddly, or grief, just a huge, helpless rage at the unfairness. This day was supposed to set Din free from an obligation he never wanted. It was supposed to open up the next part of their life together. Din wasn’t supposed to suddenly die in front of him with his head caved in by a hammer. He would have to kill her. She would probably kill him first, he had no armour on. They would both be dead soon and it wasn’t fair. He should give Missy to Boba so she’d be safe, anyway. 

He was just ready to do that last thing when Din moved. The Armourer was standing watching him, perhaps deciding whether a finishing blow was called for. He sprang to his feet, if you could call a movement a spring that was also so much like a lurch, and staggered backwards. He was visibly panting and unsteady but he was alive. He charged in again, no more defensive manoeuvres, just a desperate attack that culminated in a moment when she had to throw her head back to avoid the end of the spear striking her face, and in that fractional loss of balance and focus he was able to sweep her feet from under her with his leg. He scrambled without any grace to slam the point of the spear into the inner forearm of her hammer hand, landing with his knee on the arm holding the tongs, and knelt there heavily, panting hard. Everything fell silent. 

After a long moment in which his head rolled forward and he jerked it back up, as if momentarily faint, Din spoke. His voice sounded strange, slurred and somewhat mushy, the words very carefully and effortfully precise. “I would rather not kill you, nor remove your helmet. I still feel the greatest gratitude and respect. Your skills and your authority are much needed. Your life shouldn’t be thrown away. Can we agree that you and I will… will just leave each other alone?”

There was another long, empty moment. Then she said, “Agreed.”

“Agreed.” He pulled the spear from her arm and used it to help himself up, standing leaning heavily on it. “And for what it’s worth, I’m very sorry that I let you down.” He looked around vaguely, seemed to see Viszla, standing with his hands on the two children’s shoulders, and added, “All of you.”

The Armourer got to her feet, holding her bleeding arm tightly with the other hand. “What became of the child?” she asked. 

“He’s safe. He’s fine. I found a Jedi who took him home. He’s going to learn what he needs to know.”

She nodded, a slow inclination of her helmet, and said, “That much is good.” She gathered up her tools, hung them on her belt, and without another word or look at Din, turned away and walked off toward Viszla and the children. Almost swinging on the spear, Din turned towards his friends and gave a small wave, as if to say, “I’m okay.” Then he hunched forward and was violently sick, vomit falling from under his helmet onto the sand. 

“Oh, no no no,” Cobb said, dropping Missy on her bottom and hurrying over to hold Din up, getting his shoulder in under his left arm and pulling it around his own shoulders, holding the hand. “Babe, can you still breathe okay?”

Din made a sound of pure misery and nodded his head.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

“He’s not going home,” said Boba briskly. “Put him in here.” The speeder he had arrived in pulled up beside them, driven by Fennec; Cobb hadn’t even noticed her leaving to get it, but his attention had been firmly elsewhere. 

“I’m taking him home,” Cobb protested. “I’ll look after him.”

“And what, put some bacta on it? He’s concussed. He needs a doctor, and he won’t see one, so I’ve got the next best thing. Get a move on.”

They bundled into the back of the speeder and made a wide loop around the encampment to the spot where Boba’s ship with the offensive name was parked at some distance from the others. Cobb concentrated on holding onto Din, physically supporting him, while things went on around them. He seemed more and more dazed and unsteady, and Cobb tried to keep him talking, though for the life of him he couldn’t think what to talk about, since everything that had just happened was both far too raw and upsetting to discuss and all that he could think about. So he started babbling about the weather, asking Din if he thought this was the hottest day they’d had since he arrived, and what was the hottest place he’d ever been, and what was the coldest, and what was the most  _ moderate,  _ getting one-word answers, and then Boba and Fennec were hustling them up the landing ramp and through the ship’s corridor into a brightly lit room that looked half like a garage and half like an operating theatre. 

Boba sat Din down in something like a dentist’s chair and parked Cobb on a stool beside him, then reached for Din’s helmet. “Let’s see the damage,” he said. 

“No!” Din grabbed both Boba’s wrists and held them tight. “No, can’t…”

“Listen,” said Boba, very gently for him, “it’s only me. It’s Boba. Nobody is here who hasn’t already seen your face. You showed us by choice, right? It’s okay to let me see now, to help you. Right?”

Cobb looked up and saw that they were alone, apart from what looked like a medical droid standing ready to assist. He hadn’t noticed the other two leaving, either. He hoped they were looking after Missy. Hell, he had no idea where she was since he’d dropped her. He felt briefly like a very bad pet-owner before refocusing on Din. Slowly, he let go of Boba’s wrists and let him ease the helmet up and off. 

He looked terrible. There was puke in his beard, of course, which the droid quickly leaned in and wiped away with a cloth, but the whole side of his face that had been struck was mottled with fresh red bruises, the white of his eye on that side was half red, and the skin around the eye was puffing it half shut. 

“No droids,” he said sharply. 

“I thought you were okay with droids now,” Cobb said, puzzled. He’d only ever heard about that aversion as a way Din used to feel, when he was telling him his whole long story. “He’s here to help.”

“Just — please — no —“ He seemed both distressed and too confused to explain why. 

“That’s fine,” said Boba calmly. “Outside, RN. Cobb can help me. Let’s see. Well, you’re lucky. If your helmet wasn’t beskar I think she’d have knocked the jaw clean off you. I have seen people survive that, but it’s nasty.” He was scanning over the side of his face with a white instrument. “Broken jaw, cracked teeth, cheekbone, eye socket — you’re going to be taking your meals through a straw for a while. Need to set this and immobilise it while it heals. Should be okay, though. You’ll be as pretty as ever for us, and when you can’t talk, you can sign, eh? Don’t nod, fool.”

Din rolled his eyes and signed, “Okay.”

“How do you know how to do that?” Cobb asked, intrigued despite his worry.

“Well,” said Boba, going to a cabinet and filling a tray with various surgical-looking things, “you learn a lot about first aid as a bounty hunter because it’s easy to get hurt, and often you need to patch a prisoner up if the deal was to bring them in alive. I always thought it was interesting.” He came back and began fitting a sort of pliable transparent device like half a mask onto Din’s face. “Maybe in another life I would’ve made a doctor, eh? So that laid the foundation. I learned a lot more when I was getting myself healthy again after my accident. I don’t mind telling you it made me a bit paranoid for a while, about all the things that could happen to your body — not so much how easy it is to die, that’s old hat, but how you can get into a mess that’s very painful and be helpless like that for a long time. So it was reassuring to learn what I could do about it. Once I was well enough to leave the tribe — don’t glaze over, Din, I’m confiding in you here — I went back to a safe house of mine near Mos Espa where I could get some money I’d put aside for trouble and start sorting my life out. I was lying low for a while as I made my plans so I had a lot of time for reading and for shopping on the holonet.” The device on Din’s face seemed to be sinking fine translucent probes through his skin, then flexing and moving to realign the broken bones. It made a deeply unpleasant meaty crackling noise, but didn’t seem to be hurting him. His expression was more relieved than pained. “You’ve seen my cupboards at home,” Boba concluded. 

“And the  _ Mudhorn  _ bathroom,” Din signed. “I thought you were saying I was clumsy and I would get hurt a lot.” He stopped with a tight-lipped hiss of discomfort; using his right hand to sign, even if it was only deeply bruised, was clearly painful. 

“You do get hurt a lot,” said Boba. “You don’t even have clumsiness as an excuse. Look at you. Cobb, if you go into that top drawer there on the right you’ll find scissors. Bring them over, I’ll fix up his busted hand next.” That involved cutting off the glove, because his hand had swelled up too much to take it off normally; Din retrieved the cut glove with his other hand and stuffed it in his pocket as if hoping it could be salvaged later. 

“I’m starting to feel better,” he signed hopefully, spelling it out awkwardly one-handed. 

“Yes, that’s ‘cos you’re full to the gills with painkillers from your flexicast,” Boba said, applying a similar sort of film to the back of Din’s hand. “Luckily they’re the non-drowsy kind because after a crack on the head like that you need to stay awake for about six hours to make sure you’re not deteriorating. Can’t detect any bleed on the brain so far but brains are tricky, I’m nobody’s neurosurgeon. Have you had concussion before? Look who I’m asking, of course you have.”

“I bet you have too,” Din signed back. 

“Of course I have. The ding in my helmet should tell you that. We’re both lucky it hasn’t caught up to us yet, but if you rattle your brain enough it always eventually will.”

“Cheerful, aren’t you?” Cobb asked. 

“It’s true,” said Boba. “All three of us have had rough lives. Hard on the joints and the soft bits.”

“What’s your point?”

“It’s going to get harder as we get older.”

“Well,” said Cobb, “I think right now’s hard enough for me, when my dear partner just got his bell rung by a very angry lady with a big hammer.”

Din cleared his throat and signed, “Not angry. Disappointed. Ashamed.”

“Well, she —” Cobb began indignantly, then subsided. “From what you’ve told me about what your group believes, okay, I get why she would feel that way. But it pisses me off that anyone sees you as a disappointment.”

Din sat still a moment, then signed, “I’m disappointed.” His eyes were deeply sad, his face weary and crumpled where it wasn’t puffy and discoloured.

Cobb kissed his unmarked cheek and said, “I’m not.”

“Didn’t you already decide to go your own way?” Boba asked, placing Din’s hand, the swelling already a bit reduced, on his knee and turning to the field dressing on his left arm. 

“Different when you decide that alone and when you have to face them,” Din signed. 

“I guess that’s true. Come on, we need to get your arm out of this sleeve and fix you up.”

“Just cut the sleeve,” said Cobb, “I’ll mend it later.”

“You mend his clothes?” Boba asked, looking amused as he cut through the tough flight suit fabric.

“I mend both our clothes. I made the blanket you slept under last night. You’re not the only one with special skills.”

“Oh, so if you had to you could stitch this,” Boba said, peeling back the dressing and showing a deep but narrow slice across Din’s biceps, which began to seep more blood when it was disturbed. 

Din made a small snorting sound and a sign Cobb didn’t recognise, something with “fire” in it. 

“No, we’re not going to cauterise it, you silly sod,” said Boba. “Though yes, I can see you’ve had to do that here and there over the years. We’re going to clean it out and seal it up neat with a sticky bacta strip. You’ll have to cope with having just a little pink scar, not a big gnarly one.”

They did eventually get Din out of his flight suit for a proper examination; he had assorted bruises, some quite colourful, particularly across his neck, but seemingly nothing worse. The flexicast on his face had hardened to immobilise the set fractures, and he couldn’t make more sound than a mumble. He was clearly desperately tired and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, which of course they couldn’t let him do. He eventually rather feebly requested, with signs, to be allowed to rinse his mouth with water, since he hadn’t been able to do that after being sick. When he had done that with the help of a straw and some undignified dribbling, he signed, “Now can I please go home? No offence. Your ship is nice. I want to be home.”

The relief of getting home was tremendous, and made him realise afresh what this house had come to mean to him. It wasn’t about safety, it was comfort. This was the place where he felt comfortable and calm and loved. 

At the moment he wasn’t feeling much of anything else. He was aware that a flood of painful thoughts was waiting for him, like the pain in his face and head that was temporarily dammed up and walled away by whatever really good drugs Boba had acquired — maybe not entirely legal and regulated ones, but he had never been one to ask too many questions about that. He was also aware from experience that this was how concussion was for him — he was deeply tired but the real feeling bad wouldn’t begin until tomorrow, when he’d somehow be more exhausted even if he had slept, and his head would ache constantly and the most basic things, like taking himself to the toilet and back, would be hard work. This was a kind of suspension and when he was by himself he would have used the time to try to get himself to a reasonably safe and undisturbed place to endure the next couple of days. He was resilient enough that he would start to feel more or less normal after that, and of course he could power through it if he needed to, it would be hard but he’d done hard and knew he could do it again. 

So he wasn’t used to being brought home to a comfortable place and seated on the couch with a blanket and brought a drink with a straw and kissed on top of the head and told everything was going to be okay. If he thought hard he was pretty sure this was something that had happened to him when he was very young. In the Watch they took care of you when you were hurt or sick but it was in more of a briskly kind “c’mon now buddy, a lot of people have got it worse than you, let’s walk it off” kind of way. It might almost make him feel like he was (kind of a ridiculous thought) back with Mama, dimly as he remembered her. She was mostly just a red shawl and dark hair and a warm place to sit and a quiet, sweet hum. She definitely wasn’t reminiscent of a tall lanky man with a silver beard, even if he did wear a red scarf and have kind of a nice hum himself. 

The one thing he wanted most was to lie down with Cobb holding him and stroking his back and sleep for about eleven years, but they kept telling him he couldn’t do that, he had to stay up until evening and then he could go to bed early if he wanted to. 

Boba sat in the armchair watching him and Cobb kept going back and forth to the kitchen because he was trying to make him some special soup that he was pretty sure had magic healing properties, and Rima and Fennec excused themselves to head back to the palace to take care of business there, and Missy clambered up beside him and pushed her head under his hand and whined to be petted, and he sat there feeling numb and muddled but basically comfortable. 

“I’m probably supposed to keep you talking,” said Boba, taking off his helmet and rubbing his scalp. “When I try to do that I just tend to talk at you, though. I think the usual thing is to ask you things like who’s the Chancellor, but you probably wouldn’t know that on a good day.”

“Is it General Organa?” Din signed hopefully. That was his one current political fact and he hoped to get some use out of it.

“I actually don’t know.”

“Not a good question, then.”

“I met her once. Well, I saw her.”

“What was she like?” Din asked, to show he was willing to be kept talking and awake rather than because he really wondered. 

“Furious that I was freezing her boyfriend in carbonite to deliver him to Jabba. We didn’t chat. They had this weird little conversation where she kissed him and declared she loved him and he just went, ‘I know.’ What’s that about?”

Din shrugged. “This was Solo again?” he signed. 

“Not  _ again, _ I only ever brought him in once. Far more trouble than he was worth. If I ever met him again I’d tell him that.”

“Then shoot him?” Din signed. 

“Nah, that’s also more trouble than he’s worth,” Boba said, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Cobb returned from the kitchen and sat down beside Din, taking his hand between both his and petting the back. “Anything else you need, babe?” he asked. “Broth’s simmering, it’ll take a little while.” Din shook his head; he wanted to put it down on Cobb’s shoulder but he’d sat on the injured side, and good drugs or not he didn’t want to test them by putting any pressure on that side of his face. He wondered how long it was going to be like this for, and if the flexicast would keep it so frozen-feeling. 

“How long does this take to heal?” he signed to Boba. “Never broke my jaw before.”

“It’ll accelerate things. I’ll check on it in a week. Probably needs two.”

“Two weeks without talking,” Din told Cobb. “Good for your signing.”

“Worst part’s going to be two weeks without a good kiss,” said Cobb. “Still, that’s something to look forward to.” He stroked Din’s hair back from his forehead. “Hey, what’d you think of Sabine?”

“What about her?” Din signed. 

“Oh, c’mon, you saw what a nice gal she is.”

“I meant in particular.” 

“General impressions,” Cobb said. 

“She seemed smart. Friendly. Surprising.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling she wasn’t just here because it was a big Mandalorian event. I think she was keeping an eye on things for the Republic. Makes me wonder how they got wind of it. I don’t much want their attention.”

“She wasn’t very subtle, asking me if I’d taken over the planet,” Boba said with a little snort. 

“She’s got a retired clone trooper with her. The guy she mentioned, Rex.”

“Rex,” said Boba. “What sort of name’s  _ Rex?” _

“Doesn’t it mean king?”

“Dumb name for a clone, then.”

“You don’t like your brothers?” Din signed. 

“I think I said before, they’re not really like brothers. I don’t know. I used to try to make myself feel better about how shit my life was after Dad died by telling myself I was better than them, I wasn’t brainwashed to be obedient, I wasn’t anybody’s property and I could do whatever I wanted with my life. As an adult I can see it’s more that I was better  _ off _ than them, I was luckier in those ways. They, I guess, were luckier that they all had each other. I may have envied that. All that gets in the way a bit.”

“You could try meeting him,” said Cobb, “if they haven’t left yet. Now you know he’s here.”

“Why would I go and do that? I want to stay here and make sure Din’s okay.”

“But I’ll be with him.”

“Well, I want to be too,” said Boba stubbornly. “I’m not interested in Rex or whatever he calls himself. I’m interested in Din. He’s not just yours.”

Cobb raised his eyebrows. “That he is not. I know he’s your friend.”

“If you want me to go home, ask me to go home.”

“Don’t get riled, Boba, I’m not hinting for you to leave. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay here if you’d like to go see family.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Din signed to him. 

“Yeah, well, for a few seconds today I thought you were dead, so I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Dead?” He tried to say it out loud without thinking, and it just made a weird sound through his half-numb lips, like “dzhhthp.”

“I thought so too,” said Cobb, stroking his hair again. “That was a horrible moment. That fight wasn’t supposed to happen. Broke my heart to think you were just gone like that. You lay so still. Couldn’t believe it when you jumped back up.”

“I thought I got right back up after I fell,” Din signed, perplexed. 

“I’d say you were dead to the world for at least three seconds,” said Boba. “Not long in the greater scheme of things, but enough to give us a hell of a turn.”

“Sorry I scared you,” he signed.

“It’s not  _ your  _ fault,” said Cobb. “All you gotta think about is resting up and getting well. You’re a free man now.” He patted Din’s knee. “No more Mandalore, not unless you want to go there.”

“No more Mandalore, period,” said Boba. “You’re doing all right here, aren’t you? You’ve got your little house, your partner, you make him coffee in the morning, just like you were babbling on about when we were drunk. You earned it. Not to mention I helped.”

It felt like such a long, strange afternoon. He was so tired. Cobb made him coffee but it just made him feel tired and twitchy. The soup was good, made from a base of bone broth that Cobb had brewed up during the sandstorm, since being trapped indoors at least made it easy to dedicate twelve hours to slowly, patiently blanching and roasting and simmering all the flavour out of the bones he’d been saving up in the freezer, after which, somewhat to Din’s shock, he had just cooled it off and stuck it back in the freezer for another time. There was delayed gratification but that seemed excessive. He was grateful for it now.

“Bone broth has got to help fix your bones,” Cobb said, “that’s just science. You trust me, right?”

“Always,” Din signed back.

“And I’m gonna trust Boba to keep takin’ care of you, because little as I want to I’ve gotta head back out there and check on things.”

“Is that a good idea?” he signed. 

“Yeah, you’re the fella who slapped the brand-new duchess’ hand and told her she should be ashamed of herself,” said Boba. “Which I  _ loved, _ but you’re not much of a diplomat right now.”

“I’m the marshal, and I keep an eye on my town,” Cobb said. “I feel bad about the fact I’ve been back here and not gone to check on our people who were there selling food and stuff — it was the right thing to be with you, but I wished I could be in two places.”

“Oh, I doubt anything bad’s happened to your people,” said Boba. “We don’t get along but I don’t think the Mandalorians will bite the hand that feeds them barbecue.”

“I know. They need to see me there, though. They should never feel like I’m not looking out for them.”

“You’re right,” Din signed. “Don’t come back any more beat-up than I am.”

“A fair requirement,” said Cobb. He kissed him on the unbroken cheek and went to get his armour on. 

“Dutiful,” Boba signed to Din. 

“Are we using this to talk behind his back?” Din signed back.

“One of the best points of sign language,” Boba replied.

“You’re talking behind his back to say nice things about him,” Din pointed out.

“I can think of something mean if you want. He’s got skinny legs.”

“If that’s the worst you can say about him…” Din shrugged. He personally thought Cobb’s long slim legs were one of his best features, but Boba was welcome to his opinion. They tried playing cards; he went from playing badly to playing terribly as his tiredness grew. From time to time Boba would tell him to track something with his eyes, or ask him a question, mental arithmetic or what passed for general knowledge between the two of them, like the specifications of a weapon, or, when Boba felt like annoying him, what was the chorus of “Lapti Nek.”

“You don’t really like that band, do you? You’re just messing with us,” he signed weakly. 

“Come on, I know you know it.”

“I’m too tired to translate Huttese into sign language.”

“I’ll let you off this once.” Boba got up and went over to the window, looking out between the blinds. “Well, everything seems quiet out there. No explosions. No columns of smoke rising into the sky. If we think of all this as a dry run for the pod races, it’s not so bad.” He came back and sat down beside Din, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers together. “Can I ask you something?”

Din nodded. He was vaguely curious. He also wondered if he could talk Boba into providing the lie-in-your-arms-and-get-my-back-stroked treatment he wanted. He deeply envied Missy, who was lying on his lap fast asleep and gently snorking from time to time.

“It’s about the Watch. About you and about how you’ve parted ways,” Boba said.

Dim nodded again. He didn’t much want to talk about it but he didn’t have much resistance either.

“What I never get from you is any kind of anger at them. Any kind of, they kept me in the dark, they told me ‘this is the Way’ and never let me know there was any other way, they didn’t give me a choice, they used me, kind of anger.”

“They raised me,” Din signed. 

“So what?”

“You think they did a bad job? You seem to like me okay.”

“I mean it doesn’t add up for me. You haven’t rebelled against them. You haven’t rejected their teaching. When that armourer called you out you today, you were just honestly sad and ashamed that you’d disappointed her, weren’t you?”

“So?” Din signed. 

“There was no kind of, ‘Fuck off, this is my life and I’ll do what I want with it’ from you, but you were never going to back down. You could’ve given her your armour just to get things over with but you fought to hold onto it. And I was thinking about that big talk we had about what we thought being Mandalorian meant, and what you told me about how you spent years and years, over half your life, as a bounty hunter just so you could earn money to give back to them and support kids like you were. It didn’t matter whether you would’ve enjoyed any other kind of work more. They put you on that path and you followed it. So there’s two things that don’t fit. That man who accepted all those demands so dutifully, that man who never thought about what he wanted for himself,  _ didn’t _ look at the Darksaber and think, ‘Well, I never sought it but it’s come to me, I guess I’m the chosen leader and I’d better get on with it.’ He thought, ‘Oh hell no, I want no part of this.’ And that same man stood in front of his guide and mentor who’d given him his signet and his clan and his armour, and she told him he had no right to it any more, and he said, ‘This is mine and I’m keeping it.’ Can you explain that to me?”

Din looked at him unhappily. “That’s a good question,” he signed, “but it’s such a  _ long _ question.”

“You’ve got to stay awake until at least six-thirty by my count, so give it a shot. Or I’ll make you listen to Sy Snootles’ solo album,” Boba said with an evil little smile.

Din tried to think. He wasn’t even sure which part to focus on. “I’m sorry,” he signed. “I can’t. I mean, I know but I can’t explain it all now. I want you to understand. Ask me in a couple of days when I don’t feel so awful.”

“Yeah, all right. I guess it is asking a bit much of you. Poor little scrambled-egg brain,” Boba said, rather tenderly.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be good in a few days. At least if past experience is any guide.”

“Past experience is only so useful,” said Boba. “It only tells you what’s likely, not what’s certain. If you feel worse, if you keep having headaches, if you have trouble with your eyes, anything not normal for you, don’t soldier on and hope it gets better,  _ tell me, _ okay? Or Cobb. Don’t leave us in the situation where you collapse one day and we don’t know what was leading up to it. The more we know the more we can help, or at least ask a real doctor what they think.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Good. I’d like to keep you around and in good condition for a while. We could actually have some good times ahead of us.”

“Now that this is over,” Din said, choosing to glide for now over all the thorny, knotty feelings he had about what he’d given up and what he’d chosen, “I can think again about going to find Grogu.”

“Finally,” said Boba with some relief. “I was beginning to think you’d given up. Cobb was going to be so disappointed. The man’s broody. Don’t be surprised if you catch him building a nest.”

Din actually couldn’t laugh, his face was too stiff, but he snorted appreciatively. “I still don’t know what will happen but I hope at least I can see him. I promised him I would.”

“Of course you will.” Boba gave him a brisk pat on the knee. “I can’t wait to meet the ankle-biter. I’m a bit of an oddity among your friends, I’ve barely seen him. I can believe everyone saying he’s cute as hell but I’d like to form my own opinion.”

“I know I’m biased,” signed Din, “but yes. Big brown eyes, little button nose, big green ears.” All of a sudden, there were tears welling up and he scrubbed them away with his sleeve. 

Boba looked uncomfortable. “Do you need — oh fuck it, come here.” He pulled Din into a hug. “That’s what Cobb would do, eh?”

It was impossible to sign to him in the middle of a hug so Din just went “Mmhmm.”

“This doesn’t come naturally to me,” Boba muttered, “so appreciate it.”

“Mmhmm.” He tapped Boba’s back and then stroked his hand up and down once.

“Oh, like this?” Boba did what he’d demonstrated.

“Mmhmm,” Din said, closing his eyes in relief. 

When he opened them again he was lying down on the couch, the blanket pulled up over his body, and Boba was saying “The sneaky bastard tricked me into cuddling him and went to sleep on me.”

“And you didn’t wake him up. You laid him down and tucked him in,” he heard Cobb say, sounding like he was grinning. “Just let him have his way.”

“Fuck off, he’s cute when he’s asleep. I’ll wake him up in an hour or so and make sure he’s not dead.”

Din smiled to himself, as much as he could with a half frozen face, closed his eyes again and sank into comfortable sleep. 


End file.
